


Flux

by foxxing (gayfantasticfour)



Category: GOT7
Genre: Angst, Barebacking, Drinking, Happy Ending, Hook-Up, Jealousy, M/M, Unrequited Love, flashback/dream sequence, hella angst, mentions of jaebum in other relationships, mentions of jinyoung in other relationships
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-01
Updated: 2017-03-22
Packaged: 2018-08-28 12:02:30
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 17
Words: 100,173
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8445076
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gayfantasticfour/pseuds/foxxing
Summary: Jinyoung doesn't love him back. an AU where jaebum and jinyoung have been best friends for their entire lives, and where jaebum has always been irrevocably in love with him but somehow, jinyoung just doesn't seem to get it.





	1. i. only if i could

**Author's Note:**

> hi i'm back again
> 
> i marked this as explicit bc it'll be explicit eventually; this is my first time really doing a ~chaptered~ series where i update periodically so i'll have to update those tags as the story progresses!! 
> 
> just so i dont take up all ur time i added some more notes at the end~ 
> 
> pay attention to those tags ur in for an angst-riddled ride

Jinyoung doesn't love him back.   
  
He gets it. He really does: he hasn't been easy to love, per se, through the course of their friendship. It's not even that he  _ intended  _ to fall in love with his best friend of his literal entire life, it's just that he  _ did,  _ and now he's stuck with it. Jaebum likes to pretend that it doesn't keep him up at night, thinking about and over analyzing everything Jinyoung ever does or says, but everyone knows. It's not a secret, even if they pretend it is.

Jaebum can't even imagine a life without Jinyoung, because it's never existed. Their mothers have been friends since they were children, and it only seemed natural that their two sons born within months of each other (and totally on accident; his mother likes to say that if that's not fate then she doesn't know what is, but Jaebum doesn't like to hear about fate) would be best friends. And they were. Most of Jaebum’s memories have Jinyoung in them somewhere, even just as crowd filler in the background. His boyish face, born with wrinkles radiating from his eyes when he smiles that indicated he'd always be wise beyond his years. As they grew older, their friendship remained, grew deeper; stronger, roots in the ground a thousand miles deep and a thousand years old in their teenage bodies. Jaebum can't imagine a life without Jinyoung because, in his heart, there isn't one. 

And they are best friends, still. His feelings, though complicated, don't seem to faze Jinyoung the way it might have someone else. Jinyoung still looks at him the same way he always has; clung to him for comfort in that familiar way. They are mostly unchanged save for the ache that burns and bleeds in his chest when he lays in bed alone at night and imagines the difference it would make if Jinyoung loved him back. 

But there is no difference. Because he doesn't. 

 

** 

  
  


Oftentimes, the agony of years that comes with loving someone who is blind to it fades to background noise, like static on the television in another room. It's still there; it lingers in the space between his heartbeats and each morning he pulls it on like an old, comfortable sweater. But it no longer torments him as it used to, or, just not as often. Sometimes in that critical moment between asleep and awake his heartbeat slows to a near stop when he thinks about Jinyoung and the true depth of his feelings. His heart then kicks back into gear, waking him up with a gasp and he pretends that the tears in his eyes is just run-off from the sweat that plasters his dark hair to his temples. 

Jinyoung has the most awful sense of timing. It's on one of these particular mornings, where Jaebum wakes up with a stone on his chest and wetness blurring his eyes, that Jinyoung decides to show up unannounced. This doesn't bother him usually, except that Jinyoung has a key and Jaebum barely has time to grind the heels of his hands into his eyes when he hears Jinyoung’s voice in the hallway.

“Hyung, are you here? Wake up!”

Jaebum just sighs, that ever conflicting feeling of happiness and despair at war in his stomach at the sound of his best friend’s voice. He doesn't answer, and a moment later Jinyoung is shouldering open the door to his room and dropping his keys on the dresser. With a smile that twists in his heart like a knife, Jinyoung bounces nimbly on the balls of his feet like a kangaroo toward the bed, where he proceeds to jump on it and land directly on Jaebum’s leg. He makes a noise, sitting up a little before laying back down and watching him as Jinyoung throws a leg over his stomach and sits down on him. Jaebum has to try very, very hard to focus: he's had this fantasy a hundred thousand times, Jinyoung straddling him like this but with far less clothes than the jeans and turtleneck sweater he's currently wearing. Jaebum swallows hard and forces himself to ignore the weight of Jinyoung’s body on his lower abdomen and the pressure of both hands on his bare chest where it's exposed by the blanket.

Jinyoung, of course, seems entirely unfazed by this position. “Get up, hyung, I want to go out.”

“Hello to you, too, bossy.”

Jinyoung rolls his eyes. He reaches up and grabs Jaebum’s face in one hand, thumb against his cheek and squeezing so that his lips puff out like a fish’s. This is how much Jaebum loves him. He tolerates the manhandling because it makes Jinyoung laugh as he turns his face this way and that.

The smile drops suddenly, Jinyoung holding his face still. “Why are your eyes so red and puffy, hyung?”

Jaebum reaches up and knocks his hand away by the wrist, but the stoic nature of Jinyoung’s face all of a sudden wakes a worry in his chest. “I was sleeping, before you so rudely invited yourself in.”

Another eye roll, but half hearted this time, like he knows Jaebum is lying. “It's nearly noon, you shouldn't still be asleep anyway.”

Scoffing, Jaebum turns his head to look at the clock on the bedside table and, sure enough, it's nearly noon. He looks back at Jinyoung with a dark eyebrow raised. “And? It's Saturday. There's no class, and I don't have plans.”

His heart trembles a little when Jinyoung crosses his arms over his chest and makes a pouty face at him. It's so fucking  _ cute,  _ which only makes it worse, because it should be entirely unattractive on a 22 year old male. But it's cute, anyway, and Jaebum gives up before Jinyoung even has the chance to ask.

“You do now.”

“What do you want to do?”

He pretends to think for a second, but Jaebum knows that he'd already planned something before he got here. “Let’s go get ice cream. Then we can decide.”

Jaebum sighs, hand fisting in the sheets as he resists the urge to put his hand on Jinyoung’s slim hip. “It's cold outside and you want ice cream?”

“It's not _that_ cold, hyung. Don't be a baby. You were wearing shorts just last week.”

“True.”

Jinyoung slaps a hand down on his chest, making him grunt and instinctively grab at his wrist to shove it away when Jinyoung pulls back and laughs. This attitude seems so normal, with Jinyoung commanding him to do things and ordering him out of bed just to cure his own boredom, but there’s a feeling that gnaws at Jaebum’s chest in the way that he’s having trouble deciphering if that smile is entirely real or not. Jinyoung rolls off of him, feet hitting the floor and grabbing his ankle under the blanket. Jaebum yelps as Jinyoung drags him, quite literally, out of bed; he only lets go when Jaebum catches himself on the edge with his arms.

Jinyoung smiles at him. It doesn’t seem forced, and yet Jaebum still feels unsure. “Hurry and get dressed.”

“I would if you’d stop messing with me,” Jaebum grumbles, pulling himself up to a standing position and stretching. He can feel Jinyoung’s eyes on him where he's sitting cross legged on the floor and leaning on his hands. Jaebum puts his arms back down, tugging his boxers back up over the bones of his hips and looks down at him. “What?”

Jinyoung’s dark eyes are unreadable as they sweep up and down Jaebum’s body. He feels the familiar burn of want in his stomach and tries to swallow against it. “You're looking so skinny. Are you eating?” 

Technically, the answer is yes: he eats, and just like he always has, shoving noodles in his mouth until his cheeks are full and it looks like he might choke. But the truer, more complicated answer is  _ kind of, because sometimes I think about how much I love you and it makes me sick _ . But Jaebum can't say this. Would never say it, not out loud. And he'd certainly never say it to Jinyoung, especially when he's looking up at Jaebum with a heavy concern that settles on his shoulders like lead weights. 

He scratches his stomach absentmindedly, looking away from Jinyoung and moving to his dresser to find something to wear. Jinyoung’s sudden concern over his weight makes him feel weird. “Yeah, of course I’m eating. I've always been skinny, Jinyoungie.” 

“I can almost count your ribs, hyung. Really, are you eating enough?” 

Jaebum throws a shirt on over his head, halfway into his jeans when he turns around. “I have the same amount as you do, so I don't think counting them is really that difficult.”

Making a face, Jinyoung grabs a shirt off the floor to throw at him. Jaebum laughs and dodges it as he buttons up his jeans. Jinyoung doesn’t say anything else, instead looking away and closing his eyes to bask in the warmth of  the sun streaming in through the window. Jaebum just watches him for a second, hands lingering on his belt, entirely captivated by how absolutely beautiful he is, and how alone he is in his desire to express it. He tries to bury the forlorn sigh in a yawn but he’s never been that great at acting and Jinyoung hears it anyway, looking over at him when he does. But there’s that sense again, Jinyoung’s dark eyes not giving anything away, that pushes at him like impatient hands. 

He couldn’t figure out at first what it is about Jinyoung’s presence that’s been bothering him all morning, but it finally hits him when they’re walking downstairs to catch the bus. Jinyoung is in front of him, head down to watch his feet hit the wood, humming quietly to himself. But Jaebum finds that, besides this, there’s no tell-tale signs in his body language to give away how he’s feeling. It bothers him: after growing up together, there is nothing about Jinyoung that he doesn’t know, doesn’t intrinsically understand; Jaebum can read his face like an open book and can spot the lines of tension in his shoulders and hands. But ever since Jinyoung’s random arrival at his apartment, he’s been second guessing all the looks on Jinyoung’s face–– _ is that smile real? Is he really happy to see me?  _ Something in his gut tells him that no, it wasn’t and no, he isn’t. The thing about his best friend Park Jinyoung, though, is that he’s always been great at acting. 

Jaebum wants to ask, or bring it up. Like,  _ Jinyoungie, why do you feel so weird today?  _ But he knows any answer to a question like this would just be  _ me? Why are  _ you  _ being weird, hyung?  _ and he’d be no further in determining what feels so wrong. Being so close has just as many disadvantages as advantages, because the both of them are exceptionally good at deflecting any attempts to pry where the other doesn’t want them. 

“Hyung,” Jinyoung suddenly nudges him and pulls him out of his thoughts. He looks over to see Jinyoung watching him, all manner of the playful boy that had shown up at his apartment this morning gone and replaced with a serious one. It makes something like dread settle deep in his stomach. “What are you thinking about?” 

They’ve been on the bus for nearly twenty minutes, sitting in that comfortable, companionable silence that’s always been a staple of their friendship. The questions throws him off a little, all the dread and confusion that’s been building up igniting into something like annoyance. “What do you mean? “

“I mean, what are you thinking about? You’ve got this look on your face like––”

_ Not this again.  _ Though they talk about it as little as possible at Jaebum’s request, Jinyoung has always been unafraid to talk about his feelings and especially when it seems to be affecting his mood. Another disadvantage to being this close to someone and being horribly, irreversibly in love with them is that they usually aren’t afraid to stick their fingers in the wound and twist until it hurts like they think it’s going to help it heal.

Jaebum is entirely positive he can’t have this conversation on a bus full of strangers. “Like what, Jinyoungie?” he says through his teeth, an unspoken warning in his tone.

Jinyoung, no stranger to the force of Jaebum’s anger, relents and looks away out the window. “Nevermind.” 

He feels guilty immediately. Jaebum stares at the back of Jinyoung’s head where he’s turned away and watching the street pass by them as they get deeper into the city. He just wishes Jinyoung could  _ understand–– _ he never means to get angry and upset him, but every time Jinyoung starts to bring it up, Jaebum feels like an injured dog and Jinyoung’s pulling on his tail. It’s just a defense mechanism, a knee jerk reaction to the threat of pain that Jinyoung is always so readily about to inflict on him by saying  _ you just have this look on your face like you’re sad, why are you sad?  _ As if Jinyoung doesn’t already know that Jaebum is going to say  _ because I love you and you don’t love me back.  _ As if Jinyoung doesn’t know that he’ll make that face and say quietly,  _ oh, hyung.  _ As if he cares. 

“Jinyoungie––” 

He pushes his guilt down as Jinyoung interrupts him without turning around. “I lied.”

Jaebum’s heart drops. “About what?” 

Jinyoung doesn’t answer right away. He keeps his face turned away, and Jaebum glances down to see his hands holding each other so tightly his knuckles are white. “I came to get you because I want to talk to you about something.”

Suddenly all of Jinyoung’s weird energy from that morning makes sense. His stomach tightens uncomfortably and he swallows against the way he feels like he’s going to be sick. “What is it?” 

Finally, Jinyoung turns back toward him. The serious look is still there, tension lines near his eyes and mouth and bleeding into the set of his slim shoulders. “Can it wait until we get there? Please?” 

Jaebum just nods, unsure what else to say, and Jinyoung just turns to face the window again. Anxiety hums in his blood like a live wire: Jinyoung’s never been afraid to call him up and talk to him about serious things, or even text him when he’s going through something. Jinyoung only ever saves the face to face talks for serious things, like when his mother passed away when they were 17. His mind races wildly, trying to think of the last time he talked to Jinyoung’s father and how he was doing, or the last time he saw Jinyoung’s older sister. As far as he knows they’re doing okay, and he just talked to his own parents last week so he knows it’s not about that. He’s tempted to grab Jinyoung’s wrist and beg him to tell him what’s going on when the bus starts to slow and Jinyoung turns to him with a nod. 

“This is our stop.”

They get off the bus in silence, Jaebum trailing a little behind Jinyoung as they walk a couple blocks to Jinyoung’s favorite ice cream place. He’s right, it’s not  _ that  _ cold yet, but he’s glad for the jacket he’d picked up on the way out the door as a wind cuts down through the buildings and blows his hair away from his face. He shivers, more from the anxiety than the cold, but Jinyoung seems to notice from the corner of his eye. Jaebum shrugs it off, stuffing his hands deep into the pockets of his jacket as Jinyoung leads him to the front door of the shop and ushers him inside.

He lets Jinyoung order for him, his mind wandering in scattered directions and unable to even find anything appetizing. Jinyoung hasn’t said anything to him since they got off the bus, instead stealing little glances here and there like he doesn’t think Jaebum notices it. They wait side by side, Jaebum overly aware of the way Jinyoung’s arm brushes against his as he fidgets against the wall. The playful atmosphere from that morning is completely and utterly gone, the two of them looking more like awkward exes than best friends of 24 years. 

When their names are called, Jinyoung leaps off the wall to go retrieve their ice cream and he hands it over before leading them outside. Jaebum pushes his sunglasses up his nose, setting his ice cream down on the metal patio table and all but refusing to touch it. He plays with the spoon, tapping it against the rim of the cup as Jinyoung sits down and bounces his leg. Jaebum watches Jinyoung from behind his sunglasses as he basks in the sun and tries to keep ice cream from running down his wrist.

After a few minutes of Jinyoung humming and Jaebum nearly breaking the bright pink plastic spoon in half, Jinyoung clears his throat and lowers his hand. “Hyung––”

“Just spit it out, Jinyoungie.”

He sighs heavily, setting his cone down on the table and sitting back in his chair. Jinyoung wipes his palms down the thighs of his jeans, fingers tightening on his knees like he’s nervous. Jaebum doesn’t move, hardly even breathes where he’s hunched over the table and watching Jinyoung from behind the tinted lenses. His heartbeat is pounding in his ears, anxiety rushing through his blood and despite the slight chill in the air he can feel sweat dripping down his neck at whatever awful fucking news Jinyoung is about to drop on him. 

“Hyunwoo hyung wants to take me out.”

Jaebum drops the spoon immediately, and Jinyoung winces when it clatters noisily on the metal tabletop. Everything around them seems to come to a direct halt, the whole world save for the two of them fading down into a dull roar under Jinyoung’s words.  _ Hyunwoo hyung wants to take me out.  _

“Are you kidding me?” 

He hadn’t meant to say it. In fact, it wasn’t even his first thought. And it comes out so much harsher than he intended; Jinyoung’s face pales after he says it and his jaw tightens defensively. 

“No, Jaebum, I’m not––”

Jaebum can’t help it. He can’t help the anger that crawls up his throat. He’s not even angry at Jinyoung for wanting to go out with someone, because he’s done it before, he’ll probably do it again. But he’s never dragged him out in public, acting weird all day because of it, and dropping it on him like he’s breaking up with him. He picks up the spoon again just for something to do with his hands, but he feels himself clenching them tighter and tighter. 

“Did you seriously drag me all the way out here for this?” 

Jinyoung looks like he’s about to throw up, and it’s so unfair. It’s so fucking unfair that Jinyoung looks upset when  _ he’s  _ the one telling Jaebum he’s going to date somebody that isn’t him, when  _ he’s  _ the one who dragged Jaebum out of bed and all the way into the city just to tell him  _ Hyunwoo hyung wants to take me out  _ like he cares about Jaebum’s feelings at all. They may be best friends but it seems like the one thing that Jinyoung just can’t get through his head is that this is the one thing Jaebum doesn’t ever want to hear about. 

“Jaebum, I just wanted to tell you––”

“Why?” he asks hotly, cutting Jinyoung off again. “You couldn’t just text me about this? Couldn’t just text me and say ‘hey hyung I’m going on a date with Hyunwoo don’t hit me up this Tuesday’? You had to drag me into the city just to tell me you’re going on a date like I care that much?” 

This apparently pisses him off, because Jinyoung sits up straight and grips the thin metal arms of the patio chair. “Oh, so you’re saying you don’t care?”

“No I don’t care,” Jaebum spits, fingers aching from how tight he’s clenching his fists. “Why do you think I care so much that you literally have to take me out in public like you’re breaking up with me?” 

“Firstly, I can't break up with you because we aren't together," Jinyoung says, and it rocks him back like he'd been slapped. "And because you  _ do  _ care, you asshole,” Jinyoung continues, jaw tight. “And I can tell how much you care by how much you’re overreacting right now.” 

A hysterical laugh rises in his chest, and the plastic spoon snaps in his hand. He drops it with a hiss, the two pieces bouncing on the table and coming to a stop near Jinyoung, who just stares down at them in surprise. “Oh,  _ I’m  _ overreacting? I’m overreacting because you woke me up on my day off to take me into the city and tell me something as stupid and insignificant as you’re going on a date with one of our oldest friends? I don’t care that much, Jinyoung!” 

“Why are you lying to me so much right now?” he counters, and his voice almost sounds pleading, like he just wants Jaebum to admit he cares. But Jaebum’s too angry now, too proud to admit that yes, he cares, he cares a whole fucking lot that Son Hyunwoo wants to take Jinyoung on a date, and that Jinyoung wants to go. Jaebum just laughs bitterly instead.

“Why are you asking me for permission to go on a date? Do whatever you want, Jinyoung.”

“I’m not asking you for permission,  _ dad,  _ I’m just letting you know!” 

Jaebum drops his head down between his shoulders and yanks on his dark hair in frustration for a moment before looking back up and uttering a short, incredulous laugh. “But why? Jinyoung, I don’t understand why you think it’s  _ this  _ important!” 

“Because,” he says, and he’s gone so still, his voice quietly and deadly in a way that makes Jaebum hesitate. “I know how you feel about me.”

It’s Jinyoung’s trump card, the one thing he can always use to end an argument. Jaebum’s blood runs cold, that familiar sensation of a knife twisting in his stomach at the mention of it, made real and touchable with Jinyoung’s words. He stands suddenly, the metal patio chair scraping against the concrete with a jarring screech. Jinyoung flinches when Jaebum slams both hands on the tabletop.

“No you don’t,” he seethes, glad for the sunglasses that hide the anger burning in his eyes. “You really, really, don’t.”

“Then I just wanted your approval,” he says weakly, like he’s on the verge of tears. Jaebum’s torn between wanting to hit him and wanting to kiss him. Jinyoung looks at him like he knows this, biting his lower lip so hard it looks like it’s going to bleed in an attempt to keep the tears from forming in his eyes, but even as Jaebum looks at him he can see them coming, anyway. 

He resists the urge to kick over the chair he’d just abandoned and leans off the table. His voice is cold, as cold as he can make it, and he pushes his sunglasses up his nose. “You’ve got it. Do whatever you want, Jinyoung, but leave me the hell out of it.”

Jaebum doesn’t look back at him as he winds his way through the empty patio tables, disappearing onto the sidewalk to get as far away from the image of Jinyoung about to cry as possible. The farther away from the ice cream place the more his heart slows, until he’s exhausted from walking and the anger that has slowly burned its way down to coals in his chest. The sun is much lower when he heads for the subway station, and he checks the watch on his wrist to see that, somehow, several hours have passed. This doesn’t surprise him, as he’s always had the urge to walk off his emotional turmoil, but the time between Jinyoung always breaking his heart and his gradual acceptance of it seems to get lost on him. But it’s better than tears.  
  
When his phone rings in his pocket as he’s waiting for the subway, Jinyoung’s favorite song coming tinny and muffled in his jacket pocket, he doesn’t pick up.


	2. ii. turn up the old heartbreakers

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here's chapter 2 a day early <3
> 
> first half is a flashback, just so you dont get confused~ <3

Jinyoung and Jaebum are no strangers to fighting. It would entirely be a lie to say that their friendship over the courses of their lives has been a walk in the park. They know things about each other that know one else in this world knows; they know things about each other that they don't even know about themselves. Like how to make something hurt, when it never occurred to them that it  _ could _ hurt, until the other has two thumbs pressed down in an open wound and pushing, pushing, pushing. They have both grown claws and teeth and aimed for the throat. They are no strangers to blood. 

Their worst fight was at twenty. They'd fought hundreds of times before, it was impossible not to fight about things knowing each other for so long and constantly existing beside the other. But those fights never lasted long, and they are now mostly forgotten save for the more amusing ones that are reserved for parties when they need a good story. But this fight was so different from the rest in that it lasted for weeks and nearly permanently broke them apart. 

Thinking on it now, Jaebum can barely remember what had started it, though he remembers the fight as clear as day. It wasn't necessarily even a certain large event, just a cumulation of many events over time that had built and built and built until finally the two of them were inevitably going to collapse under the pressure. Jinyoung’s mother died when they were seventeen, and it was the hardest thing he’s ever had to go through so far: two of the most important people in his life just had someone important ripped from them, and there was nothing he could do. Jaebum remembers standing stone faced and strung tight like a musician's bow at her funeral. Jinyoung and his own mother both had leaned on him for support, their tears staining the shoulders of his dark grey suit, weighing him down with a sadness he was so afraid to touch. 

_ Grief does strange things to people, Jaebum-ah,  _ his father had told him, when his mother could only lie in bed for days at a time the first month Mrs. Park was gone. This is advice he heeded to Jinyoung as well, even as the younger boy turned into a frightening mirror image of himself. Jinyoung was angry a lot, guarded and always ready to snap at people who came too close like an abused dog. He was prone to fighting, always swinging a fist right before Jaebum would usually catch him around the wrist to pin it behind his back and push him into the wall or to the ground. Jinyoung would writhe and spit and swear at him like he was possessed until he wore the anger down to stumps and faded into tears instead. This was almost worse than the anger, because Jaebum always had to pick up the pieces and he never knew when he'd cut a hand on Jinyoung's newly jagged edge. 

At that moment in time, Jaebum had already known that he felt something for Jinyoung that went way beyond their friendship. He’d always known that something was  _ different _ , he didn't have wet dreams about any of his other friends. Being a teenager this was confusing, but by the time they were 20, he just accepted it. There was nothing to be said about it, as he knew Jinyoung didn't feel the same, and so he didn't say anything. Only a couple of their friends knew. And, as it turns out, it was a mistake to tell anyone at all. 

He remembers how antsy Jinyoung had been that day. Pacing back and forth in his room like a wild animal in a cage, hands behind his back or twisting around his wrists in front of him. Jaebum had walked in on this, heart in his throat since he'd left after Jinyoung’s demand that he come over. Jinyoung had watched him come in the room, looking away when he'd sat on the edge of the bed. Jaebum just sat quietly as he paced for a while longer, until he suddenly seemed to lose traction and stopped to sit by him on the bed.

“Jinyoung-ah, are you okay?” 

“I don't know,” he had said, eyes trained on the floor. “They keep saying it'll get easier with time, but it hasn't yet.” 

“It hasn't been very long, Jinyoung. And I don't think it'll ever really go away.” 

Jinyoung had sniffled quietly, an ache in Jaebum’s chest at wanting to just pull him down and hold him. “It's been three years since she died, Jaebum. I need to get over it but I can't.”

“It's not something you really get over, Jinyoungie. But you'll learn to live with it.”

He had nodded a little, sniffling and wiping his forearm across his nose. They sat in silence for a little while longer, Jaebum gently rubbing the small of Jinyoung’s back while he stared at the floor and tried not to cry anymore. Minutes passed in the silence, and Jaebum could feel a tension coiling up in the muscle of Jinyoung’s back even as he tried to rub it away. Finally, Jinyoung spoke without looking up at him. 

“Why did you tell Yugyeom that you're in love with me?”

Jaebum remembers so clearly the way that time had seemed to stop completely. The way the ambient sounds of the room had faded to static in his ears, his hand gone still and removed from Jinyoung’s back like he'd been on fire. The transition was so sharp, from talking about Jinyoung’s mother to a question from left field about Jaebum’s feelings which he never wanted to discuss. Anger burned up low in his throat at Yugyeom, a couple years younger than them but no less of a friend, but right then Jaebum was ready to murder him. 

Instead he'd tried to play dumb. “What are you talking about?” 

“Why did you tell Yugyeom that you're in love with me?” the same question, same inflection, Jinyoung still staring at the floor. 

His brain was working overtime, trying to find some way out of this. “Uhh… I didn't.” 

“He said that you did. He said you've always been in love with me. Even since we were kids.” 

Jaebum wanted to kill Yugyeom in that moment. Yugyeom had betrayed his trust in telling him the most personal thing about himself, the one thing he never wanted spoken aloud. 

“You know Yugyeom. He likes to say things to stir stuff up.” 

Jinyoung had looked at him then. Fresh tears in his eyes, bloodshot and watery and miserably angry. “So it's not true?” 

Jaebum swallowed hard. He never was a good actor. “Um—”

“Is it a lie, Jaebum?”

“Yah, why are you getting angry with me?”

Jinyoung had set his jaw. “Because you're lying to me.”

“I already said—”

“I know what you said,” Jinyoung had cut him off. “But I  _ know  _ you. I know when you're lying to me.” 

He didn't say anything. Just looked at Jinyoung in silence, an anger of his own slowly brewing in his chest. Jinyoung had seemed so indignant, offended, as though he'd been kept out of the loop of some joke that everyone knew but him. But it was Jaebum’s feelings, the one thing between them that belonged solely to Jaebum and the one thing he never had to share if he didn't want to. And yet Jinyoung was angry at him. 

Jaebum had clenched his teeth. “He shouldn't have said anything.” 

The look on Jinyoung’s face was indescribable. A name for it evades him even still. Heartbreak, joy, anger, terror, all of these things at once. His voice was low and still like stagnant water. “So it's true then?”

There was no longer any point in lying. Defeat sat heavily on his shoulders. “Yes.” 

“You love me.” Not a question. 

“Yes.” 

“Why would you keep that from me?”

Indignant again, as though Jinyoung had some monopoly over Jaebum's feelings, and had the right to know each and every one. He'd stood up quickly, trying to swallow back the anger that arose at Jinyoung’s tone, but Jinyoung was right in that they could read each other like an open book. 

“Because you didn't need to know. And he shouldn't have told you.” 

Jinyoung had looked at him angrily, hands fisted in his sheets. “But why?” 

“Why what, Jinyoung? Why don't you need to know? Because it's not important. It doesn't matter.” 

Jinyoung had leapt to his feet. “It  _ doesn't matter?”  _

“No,” he'd said, trying to be stern and backing away when Jinyoung had taken a step forward. “You're grieving your mom right now, Jinyoung. This isn't important and you were never supposed to find out anyway.”

Jinyoung stopped. “You weren't going to tell me?” 

“No,” he said again. “Jinyoung, we’re not discussing this. We should be talking about how you feel right now about your mom—”

_ “Damn how I feel about her being dead!”  _ Jinyoung had shouted suddenly, and it made his blood run cold. Jinyoung was breathing heavily like he'd been running, cheeks splotchy red from the tears and Jaebum could tell he was on the verge of another meltdown.  _ It's just part of the grieving process.  _

“Jinyoung—”

“Shut up! How could you keep something like that from me, Jaebum? I'm your best friend!” 

“You don't have to know everything, Jinyoung,” he shot back, crossing his arms. He gripped his biceps with both hands and dug his nails in to keep the anger at bay.

“We tell each other everything! You know everything about me!” 

“You know everything about me, too!” 

Jinyoung laughed humorlessly. “Apparently not! Apparently you can't even tell me how you really feel about me!” 

Jaebum had just shrugged. “Well, you already know, don't you?”

“ _ It's not the same!”  _ Jinyoung screamed, and that was it. That was the final straw. Jaebum’s anger crawled up his throat at Jinyoung’s tantrum, his indignance at Jaebum trying to protect them both by keeping his real feelings hidden away, in the corner of his brain to only come out at night when he was alone to choke on them in solitude. Jaebum had tensed, almost drawing blood in his arms where his nails were still digging in.

“What do you want, Jinyoung!” he shouted back, and it only seemed to agitate Jinyoung further. “What do you want!” 

“I just want to know the truth! I want to hear it from you!”

Jaebum could feel it even before it actually came: the anger, the pain, the rift that his next words were going to cause. He shouted them so loud his voice cracked halfway through, left him feeling raw and exposed. 

“Then I love you! Are you happy? I love you, Jinyoung, and I’ve loved you my entire fucking life, and I love you right now, even though I want to hate you! You weren't supposed to find out, because I didn't  _ want  _ you to know! Because I know you don't love me back! And fuck you for being angry at me for wanting to keep it to myself. Not everything is about you, Jinyoung! I was trying to protect myself!” he was shouting, loud, his throat aching, watching Jinyoung’s face as it went from an angry red to a shocked and pale white. “But you're right, you're my best friend, so you deserve to know it all, right? Well there you go! I love you, and I hate myself for it! Are you happy, Jinyoung? Are you happy?”

The room was eerily silent when he finished, the only sound was that of his breath as it tore from his chest in pants. Jinyoung was so still, face white save for the redness of his eyes where fresh tears were welling. It broke Jaebum’s heart to see it, to know that he caused it, but he couldn't regret the words in that moment. He couldn't regret the truth no matter how much it hurt. No matter how much it was like twisting a knife. 

“Jaebum—”

And that's the last thing that he wanted. Jinyoung’s pity, after ripping himself open and spilling his guts in front of him. The last thing he wanted was to look into Jinyoung's face and see those dark brown eyes filled with pity, for him to say  _ oh hyung I'm sorry, I am.  _ He shoved Jinyoung away roughly, ignoring where Jinyoung’s eyes were on him as he grabbed his car keys off the bed. He headed for the door and Jinyoung tried again, saying  _ hyung, wait _ and grabbing Jaebum’s wrist. 

He tore it angrily from Jinyoung's grip. “Don't,” he spat, and Jinyoung cringed away from the force of his anger. “Don't talk to me.” 

And then he left. 

After that, Jinyoung tried to get a hold of him for weeks. Texting him, calling him, coming to his house to knock on the door and call for him, only to sigh dejectedly and leave when Jaebum didn't answer. Jinyoung tried using their friends, but Jaebum always deflected their inquiries about him and Jinyoung and changed the subject until they just gave up. It was a miserable three weeks, and by the end of the first he missed hearing Jinyoung’s voice. Eventually the anger lightened day by day, and, like all the other fights, it eventually came to an end. The last time Jinyoung had showed up and knocked on his door, his face was all surprise when Jaebum actually answered. 

“What do you want?” He had asked. But he already knew. 

Jinyoung had smiled. “I don't know. I wasn't expecting you to answer.” 

And Jaebum let him in. 

From there it was easier. The fight never went away, but they never talked about it again; like other things it was glossed over and a lesson learned. But the hurt was real and it was deep, and left a long ragged scar across his heart that he can still feel. 

 

** 

 

Yugyeom, unlike Jinyoung, suffered Jaebum’s wrath much longer that year. For almost six months Jaebum didn’t talk to him, wouldn’t see him, ignored him entirely if they ran into each other, despite Yugyeom’s attempts to beg for forgiveness. Eventually, though, Jaebum kind of missed the younger brother that he came to be. And so he was forgiven, too, and it disappeared into the sands of time.

Now, he’s sitting on the living room floor of Yugyeom’s house with his back against the couch. They’ve been playing video games for a couple of hours, the exact kind of mindless entertainment that he needed in order to stop thinking about Jinyoung for a while. He can feel Yugyeom’s leg against his shoulder where he’s sitting on the couch next to him, leaning this way and that and screeching at the top of his lungs when he’s getting close to dying. Jaebum laughs quietly, guiding his character to Yugyeom’s in order to save him. It’s an ambush, though, and as soon as he arrives, animated bombs start going off left and right until both of their screens are dripping with blood and alerting them that they’ve died. Yugyeom grumbles in annoyance, and Jaebum drops his controller in his lap to rub his eyes tiredly.

Yugyeom’s leg jostles his shoulder. “You’ve been so quiet today. What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, blinking rapidly and picking up his controller again as they both respawn. The screen freezes though, PAUSE across it in big letters. He turns to look up Yugyeom, who sets his own controller down on the couch and raises an eyebrow. 

“C’mon, hyung. You know you’re a terrible actor, right?” 

Jaebum doesn’t respond to this, which is an affirmation in itself. Yugyeom laughs.

“Jaebum hyung,” he says, softer this time, bumping his shoulder lightly with his long, denim clad leg. “Is this about Jinyoung hyung?” 

He sighs heavily and drops his controller to the floor next to him. Jaebum stretches his legs out, dropping his head back onto the couch and looking up at the ceiling. “How much do you know already?” 

His eyes follow Yugyeom’s shoulders when they rise and fall in a shrug. “Not much. Just that you guys had a fight about something. He’s really upset about it, you know.”

“Oh, and I’m not?” 

Yugyeom clicks his tongue against his teeth. “That’s not what I meant, hyung, and you know it. I know you’re upset, too.” 

“Then why are we talking about it?” Jaebum asks, and resists the urge to sigh again. He looks up to find Yugyeom watching him, upside down from Jaebum’s point of view but no less concerned. 

“Hyung… why don’t you guys just talk about it?” 

Jaebum sits up and turns to put an arm on the couch, looking at Yugyeom right side up now. “Talk about what?”

“Your feelings.” 

He makes a face. “Last time we did that, Yugyeom, it was your fault, and we didn’t talk to each other for three weeks.” 

“Actually,” Yugyeom corrects him, “ _ you  _ didn’t talk to  _ him  _ for three weeks.” 

“Yeah, well, I didn’t talk to  _ you  _ for six months.” 

“I know,” he says, and his face falls a little. “It sucked.” 

It’s been a couple years now, almost four, but he still feels pretty bad about it. “I know. I’m sorry.”

Yugyeom waves him off. “It’s fine. But really, you should just talk about it. It’s been like, what, almost four years since he found out?” 

Jaebum nods. 

“Then maybe it’s time to revisit it. Talk about your feelings. Who knows, maybe something’s changed.”

_ Yeah, right.  _ Jaebum snorts derivatively. “I doubt it. Mine haven’t. They probably won’t. So I doubt his have either.”

“How do you know?” Yugyeom prods, like he knows something Jaebum doesn’t but is trying to make him guess the answer. “Do you know that for sure?”

Jaebum thinks about their fight just the other day, when Jinyoung told him about Hyunwoo wanting to take him on a date and how Jinyoung so casually and unemotionally said  _ because I know how you feel about me.  _ Jaebum looks at him. “Yes.”

Yugyeom rolls his eyes. “You’re all he talks about, you know.” 

His heart stutters in surprise, and he straightens up a little. “What?” 

“Yeah. You’re all he talks about.” Yugyeom laughs a little at the look on his face. “Even if we aren’t talking about you directly, it’s always, ‘Jaebum hyung this’ and ‘Jaebum hyung that’.”

Jaebum deflates and leans back against the couch, facing away from Yugyeom again to stare blankly at the TV, now dark. He can’t explain the feeling in his chest at Yugyeom’s words, and he’s not sure if he wants to believe them. “We’ve been friends our whole lives, Yugyeom. It’s not that weird if he talks about me sometimes.”

“Sometimes, sure, Jaebum hyung, but did you hear what I said?” Yugyeom pushes at his shoulder with his foot. “It’s all the time. Even if you weren’t even part of the conversation, it’s just ‘Oh, well, Jaebum likes this’ or ‘Jaebum knows about that, he told me about it once’. It would be different if it was sometimes, hyung, but he never shuts up about you.” 

His chest feels tight like he can’t breathe, unsure how to feel about what he’s hearing. Surely it’s not that weird, right? They’ve been friends for a long time, and he talks about Jinyoung all the time too. Lots of things remind him of Jinyoung, and not just because he’s hopelessly in love with him, either; they’ve experienced practically everything together and Jaebum’s memories are a mess of him, his family, and him and Jinyoung. He’s not sure that Jinyoung always bringing him up in conversation is really anything to read into.

Jaebum sighs heavily. “Yugyeom––”

He doesn’t get to finish: they both look up when Yugyeom’s front door opens down the hallway. There’s a familiar cursing as they take their shoes off, and then Jinyoung’s voice is ringing down the hallway.

“Yugyeom-ah, where are you?” 

Jaebum turns sharply, eyes shooting daggers at the younger, who shrugs and pretends to be surprised. Anger simmers low in his stomach, making him feel uneasy and anxious as Yugyeom yells out his location. Every step of Jinyoung’s approaching feet in the hallway makes him wind tighter and tighter, and his fingernails dig into the couch cushion where he’s grabbing onto it so hard his fingertips are white. It’s only been a few days since their fight at the ice cream shop, and Jaebum isn’t anywhere near ready to talk about it or pretend like it never happened, and he can’t believe Yugyeom would ask Jinyoung over without telling him. 

But then again, Yugyeom has always been quietly rooting for whatever imaginary chance he thinks the two of them have, so many he’s not  _ that  _ surprised. 

Jinyoung seems to be, though, as he’s halfway through a sentence when he turns the corner that dies in his throat as soon as he sees Jaebum sitting on the floor and staring at the wall. He sees Jinyoung look at Yugyeom questioningly for a moment, the two of them having some conversation with just their eyes that he’s largely left out of. Regardless of whatever communication passed between them, Jinyoung sighs in relief after a moment and walks over to him.

“Hi, hyung,” he says quietly, and Jaebum doesn’t look up. But he can’t deny the relief that floods through him, too, at seeing Jinyoung in front of him. Jinyoung seems to take his silence as an invitation, because a moment later Jinyoung is plopping himself down in Jaebum’s lap and resting his legs on top of Jaebum’s where they’re still stretched out in front of him. Yugyeom can be heard choking back a laugh, but Jaebum doesn’t see what’s funny about it as Jinyoung’s weight settles onto his lap and his back reclines against his chest, head leaned on the couch cushion next to him. Yugyeom excuses himself a moment later claiming that he has “a phone call to make, I’ll be back hyungs” which is obviously total bullshit and code for  _ I’m leaving the room so you can make up so please talk to each other.  _

Jinyoung sighs contentedly, his back expanding against Jaebum’s chest and shifting a little to get comfortable. One hand on the floor and the other still gripping the couch cushion, Jaebum ignores every voice in the back of his head that’s screaming for him to just gently reach up and touch Jinyoung somewhere,  _ anywhere _ , where he’s resting on Jaebum’s thighs. He can feel very clearly the bulk of Jinyoung’s ass settling in his lap, and somewhere deep in his stomach a hunger groans awake and he does everything in his power to quiet it. 

Voice tight, he speaks between his teeth. “What are you doing, Jinyoung?” 

Jinyoung inhales deeply through his nose and, though he doesn’t look, Jaebum can guess he has his eyes closed where his face is turned up toward the ceiling. “Just relaxing, hyung.”

“Do you think this is cute, Jinyoung?” 

As though he can feel Jaebum looking at him now, he cracks open an eye and looks down. He closes it again and cracks a smile when their eyes meet. “You haven’t told me to get up yet.”

“Get off me, Jinyoung.” 

Jinyoung makes a pouty face that Jaebum pretends he didn’t see. “But hyung, you’re so comfortable.”

And then, as if he has no idea what it’s going to do to him, Jinyoung wiggles in his lap. Low heat spreads through his groin as Jinyoung’s weight shifts across his dick, brushing against it, resettling full and heavy against him. Pins and needles rocket up and down his legs, the pleasure wrong and real as it spreads up into his stomach. With Yugyeom gone, the TV off, and neither of them really talking to each other, the silent room seemingly amplifies the sharp intake of breath through Jaebum’s nose. There’s no mistaking it; neither of them are naive, and he knows that Jinyoung knows what that sound means. His hands tighten dangerously where they’re gripping the couch and the carpet for dear life, willing the blood in his body to rush anywhere but down. But his body is a dirty traitor, and he knows Jinyoung feels him get half hard at the cute little surprised noise he makes. Jaebum squeezes his eyes closed, chest tight like it’s going to explode.

“Jinyoung. Get up.”

Teasingly, because he  _ knows _ , Jinyoung rests against his chest and doesn’t move. “Ahh, it’s okay, hyung. I’m pretty comfortable. Aren’t you?” 

_ No, actually, I’m not very comfortable, because we’re supposed to be fighting and yet here you are sitting on my lap and turning me on, and purposely ignoring it.  _ “Do I seem comfortable?”

There’s a strange intonation to Jinyoung’s voice; a little breathless, the hint of a tremor towards the end that he can’t quite comprehend: “Something tells me you’re feeling comfortable.” 

Jesus. He can’t take it anymore; Jinyoung alludes to him being 100% aware of the fact that Jaebum is getting hard where Jinyoung won’t sit still in his lap, and yet, he won’t fucking move, and Jaebum is torn between wanting to pick him up and throw him down to fuck him into the carpet to teach him a lesson and just abandoning him entirely. Jaebum inhales slowly, hands creeping up to Jinyoung’s hips and gripping them gently. Jinyoung makes a quiet noise under his hands, his back pushed against Jaebum’s chest with the shaky breath he takes when Jaebum touches him. Jaebum lets his hands linger for a moment, fingertips digging in and bunching Jinyoung’s shirt at the waist, Jinyoung halfway through a low exhale of  _ hyung––  _ before Jaebum is gripping his waist roughly to push him off his lap to the floor.

Jinyoung makes a sound of surprise when Jaebum stands up quickly, his dark eyes burning a hole into the side of him as he half turns away to adjust the crotch of his jeans, uncomfortable now that he’s half hard. Jinyoung just watches him, and Jaebum flips up the hood of his jacket like it’ll somehow make him invisible. He wants to say something, anything; he wants to acknowledge the weird sexual moment they just had but Jinyoung’s still staring at him and he’s still kind of hard and he still wants to die, so he doesn’t look down and leaves the room to slam his way out of Yugyeom’s house instead.

He doesn’t make it very far. He’s barely down the sidewalk on the side of Yugyeom’s house when the door is closing behind him, and a warm, familiar hand is grabbing his wrist and yanking him back. He just lets it happen, stopping when Jinyoung gets him all the way facing him. He looks kind of miserable, tension lines by his eyes and a worried slouch to his shoulders. Jaebum sighs internally. He’s not going to last very long.

“Jaebum, I’m sorry.” 

“About what?” 

Jinyoung fidgets a little. “About the fight we had. The other day. I just…” he stops for a moment to run his hand through his dark hair, and Jaebum hates the way he notices that it’s shaking a little bit. “I just thought you should know.” 

“You should know by now that I don’t want to know about that stuff, Jinyoung,” he replies, but it lacks heat, and he knows that Jinyoung has won again. Jinyoung looks up at him with those big, beautiful dark eyes and his resolve just shatters apart like glass.

“You’re my best friend, hyung.”

“I know, Jinyoungie.” Sighs. “You’re my best friend, too.”

“I’m sorry.”

“I know, Jinyoungie,” he says again, nodding a little. “It’s okay.”

And then Jinyoung is making this face like he’s about to cry, but instead he grabs Jaebum by the front of his zippered hoodie and yanks him forward into a hug. Jaebum makes a small noise of surprise, but instinctively wraps his arms around Jinyoung’s torso as Jinyoung grips the material of his jacket at the small of his back. It’s comforting, and something clicks back into place that feels a little bit normal, like it always does when their fights come to an end. Jinyoung’s bent down a little, face buried in the crook of his neck, so Jaebum just rests his chin on Jinyoung’s head and stares at the red wood of the front door as Jinyoung slowly rubs his back. It goes on for a few minutes, the two of them swaying a bit, 24 years of comforting ingrained in their DNA. 

Jaebum sighs a little and is about to let go when he feels Jinyoung’s hand playing at the back of his shirt. He tenses a little, Jinyoung gone still in his arms and slowly, so, so slowly, he feels where Jinyoung is working his fingers up underneath the hem and pressing against the skin of his back. Jinyoung’s fingers drag lightly up his spine, following the dip of it at his lower back and all the way up, until Jaebum’s back is exposed to the night where his shirt and jacket have bunched at Jinyoung’s wrist. Static drags down his arms and legs when Jinyoung’s fingers trail back down, the ghost of a feeling, raising goosebumps on his skin and making his mouth drop open on a silent, hiccuped gasp. Jinyoung pauses near the waistband of his jeans, dragging his fingers across the top of them from the back of one hip to the other, before starting the journey up his spine again with gentle fingers. Pleasure claws its way up his legs, settling like warm honey in his groin, half hard again in a matter of moments. 

“Jinyoung,” he says, trying to be stern, but it’s breathless, and he’s weak. He’s so weak. First it was Jinyoung in his lap, and now it’s Jinyoung playing an invisible piano up and down his back and he wants, so much. 

“Hmm?” Jinyoung hums quietly, sounding a bit tired, but Jaebum can feel the vibration of his throat against his collarbone. His lips, warm and slightly wet, barely brush against the base of his throat when he speaks quietly. “Don’t worry, hyung. It’s okay,” and Jaebum feels the blood in his head rush down his neck and back up as he starts to blush feverishly. Jinyoung’s lips are there, at his throat, but not there; he can feel the imprint of them when he moves them to speak but there’s no pressure of the kiss he wants so badly. “We’re okay.”

Jaebum knows that the best thing to do right now is to disentangle himself and walk away. Jinyoung knows that Jaebum can barely say no to him; doesn’t ever  _ want  _ to say no to him. And it seems as though, since their fight, Jinyoung is willing to test the limits and the threshold of his temptation. Jinyoung’s fingers linger at his lower back again, a little more pressure, the sharp feeling of his nails against his skin as they drag up his back sending spikes of pleasure into his stomach. He swallows down a noise and, instead of pushing him away, he fists his hands in Jinyoung’s shirt and yanks him closer. He buries his face in Jinyoung’s hair, breathing unevenly as he lets Jinyoung caress his bare back, knuckles aching where he’s grabbing Jinyoung’s clothes. Jinyoung swallows roughly, his breath shaky when he releases it and it ghosts across Jaebum’s throat. 

Jinyoung gets brave, then, fingertips lingering down his back until he gets to the tops of his jeans, and then he’s going sideways from hip to hip again. Jaebum barely breathes, feeling a shake starting up in his arms, but lets Jinyoung continue until he feels Jinyoung’s wandering hand as it turns the corner of his hip and around to the bone of his hip. It feels too late to stop it, Jinyoung’s gentle fingers gliding effortlessly across his hip bone and across the flat plane of his stomach, brushing across his navel that sends pricks down his legs and then again as Jinyoung touches what’s visible of the hair on his stomach leading down into his jeans––

He gasps quietly, Jinyoung mirroring the noise when he gets to the buckle of Jaebum’s belt before getting stopped. He grabs Jinyoung’s wrist and holds it tight, trying not to squeeze it.

“Jinyoung,” he breathes, wanting to let him keep going but knowing he can’t. Not like this. Jinyoung seems to think he can end a fight by trying to give Jaebum what he wants but it just doesn't work that way. “Jinyoung. Don't."

The younger sounds equally breathless where his hand goes limp in Jaebum’s grip and the other loosens in his jacket. There's a note in his voice that Jaebum can't quite identify. “Why, hyung? Why?” 

“Just––” a shudder wracks through him, squeezing Jinyoung’s wrist, and then he slips out of the circle of Jinyoung’s arms and lets go. His breath feels stuck somewhere in his throat, and he’s glad for the cover of darkness to hide the fact that he’s fully hard now and blushing a deep scarlet. _Because you don't mean it. Because it's not fair._ “You know why.”

Jinyoung’s eyes glitter in the darkness, a calm look of want and disappointment warring on his face, but no anger. Jaebum tries to take a deep breath and reaches out to nudge his shoulder. “Call me tomorrow and we’ll take the bus together to school. Okay?” 

“Alright,” Jinyoung says, but the tension doesn’t dissipate. His voice is too even, too calm for getting so close to touching him and then getting turned away. “Goodnight. Get home safe.” 

“You too, Jinyoungie.”   
  
While he's waiting for the bus, his mind works quickly to try and come up with a logical reason that Jinyoung is being so... _sexual._ It's not that they've  _never_ had a sexual encounter; they've been friends for 24 years and the mornings where they woke up in each other's beds and one or both of them were wet from some forgotten about dream led to many conversations about  _what are our boundaries?_ And from the get go it was pretty clear; their friendship wasn't sexual, even though sexual things happened. Those times where maybe Jinyoung got a little too handsy in the pool in the summers or Jaebum's hands slipped a little too far up Jinyoung's shirt in the winters at the bus stop were swept under the rug and filed away as just  _things friends do._ And yet they never spoke of them–there's always been some unwritten rule between them that they don't tell their friends about those things, which, looking at it now, why? The more he thinks about it, the more he realizes because they were both wrong. It's not just  _what friends do._

Jaebum leans his forehead against the cold window of the bus and tries to forget the feeling of Jinyoung’s fingers on his skin. He tries to forget the way Jinyoung so unabashedly touches him, throws his body against Jaebum's and tries to get his way by giving in to that hidden thread of desire running between them. But he can’t; neither of them can have this. And so later that night when he’s in bed with his boxers pushed down his thighs and his hand wrapped around his cock, he comes guiltily to the thought of Jinyoung’s fingers on his body.


	3. iii. i caught a glimpse

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi <33333 an update as promised wHOOOO i'm sorry this one is boring and short but ;^; gotta have some build up u kno~~ and there's not a lot of angst! a short angst break before the real angst begins :)))))))
> 
> also i'm in school and i have 2 really big projects and 2 papers coming up so i'm gonna try to update on time!! but just kno if it's a day or 2 late i'm sorry and i'll try my best to be on time <333

Jinyoung, as promised, waits patiently at the bottom of the stairs for Jaebum the next morning for school. When he finally comes down shoving his keys in his pocket Jinyoung smiles, warm and welcome, and everything falls back into place. 

The messiness of the last week seems to disappear easily, though sometimes Jaebum thinks he can still see the tiniest bit of tension lingering behind Jinyoung’s eyes when he thinks Jaebum isn't looking. But it's mostly normal, the two of them sitting side by side on the bench waiting for the bus to come in the chilly air of the mid-morning. Jinyoung squints into the sun, face upturned and basking in the little warmth it provides. He looks so much like a sunbathing cat and Jaebum loves him so, so much. For once, and just today, that thought finally doesn't hurt. 

He nudges Jinyoung’s shoulder with his own. “Yah. Are you feeling okay?”

Jinyoung hums back at him. “Actually, hyung, yeah. I am.” His eyes open and he turns his head to look at Jaebum, searching his face. “Are you?”

Jaebum swallows, their faces close together and Jinyoung’s eyes deep and earnest where they're looking unflinchingly into his own. He nods. “Yeah.”

“I hate fighting with you, hyung.” 

He smiles a little, one corner of his mouth pulling up, and his heartbeat stutters a little when Jinyoung tries not to smile back and fails. “We’ve been fighting for years. You know that, right? Remember that time you pushed me off the monkey bars?”

The quiet of the morning in Jaebum’s neighborhood splits under Jinyoung’s loud peal of laughter. His hand comes up to cover his mouth, hiding his teeth, but it does nothing to block out the braying sound of his laugh. “Oh, man, you were so mad!”

“You pushed me! Was I supposed to say thank you?!”

He leans away when Jinyoung goes to playfully shove at his arm. “You tried to go before me even though it was  _ my  _ turn!”

“I'm older,” he says, and laughs quietly as he lets Jinyoung push him over to his side on the bench. Jinyoung leans over him, elbow resting on his hip and his cheek in his hand as he looks down at where Jaebum is laying sideways on the bench. He sighs, a content noise, the smile still firmly in place. 

“I meant it, hyung. I don't like fighting with you. It hurts.” 

Jaebum doesn't move, just continues watching Jinyoung where he's resting on him. “It hurts me, too, Jinyoungie.”

The feel of Jinyoung’s fingertips on his jaw a moment later makes his stomach hurt. Jinyoung is just looking at him, touching his face gently, not angry or sad or happy. Just comforting without words. His voice when he speaks is soft; no trace of instigation in his tone, only genuine gentleness. “Then why?” 

It comes out before he can stop it, before he can think about how to answer. Because it's the most natural response. The truest one. 

“Because I love you.” 

Both of them freeze. Jinyoung’s fingertips go still underneath his eye where they'd been slowly stroking his cheekbone, and Jaebum’s mouth only closes halfway on a follow up remark. Jinyoung’s eyes widen a little, shock on his face. It's not what he'd meant to say—the last time he said  _ I love you  _ so frankly and starkly was when Jinyoung had forced the confession out of him in his bedroom four years ago. Since then it's always been  _ you know how I feel about you  _ and  _ my feelings  _ and  _ the way I feel.  _ Never _ I love you  _ so openly and honestly and without the usual agony that comes with it. His stomach drops with the fear that Jinyoung is going to lean away or get up and leave, another fight sparked before the coals of the last one even had even cooled. 

But he's surprised when Jinyoung just flushes a dark, deep red up to his ears. He clears his throat, pulling his hand away and leaning back up but not before slapping him lightly on the chest. “You're my best friend, you idiot, I know you love me.” 

It's not exactly what he'd  _ meant,  _ but he finds it doesn't bother him like it might have. Jinyoung didn't say anything else, and he didn't say  _ I love you too,  _ but he casually lays his arm across Jaebum's hip to point across the street to a cat in the window. He starts talking about it, glancing at him every so often while he talks and it's normal. So blissfully normal that, for a moment, Jaebum can forget. 

  
  


**

 

Their first class of the day is an English literature class, which Jinyoung practically begged him to take together. Jaebum has always been an avid reader, in fact, it’s a habit that Jinyoung originally picked up from  _ him;  _ but after the literature classes he was required to take in high school, he finds that required reading bores him a little. Jaebum much prefers reading on his own time, exploring the often deserted sections of the library and pulling down dusty old books to take them home. Required classroom reading isn’t really his style but, like always, he has a really hard time saying no to Jinyoung.

Plus, the class isn’t so bad. The professor is nice; she teases the students a lot, and doesn’t give them a lot of homework even though she could. Jinyoung and Jaebum sit together toward the back, at one of the smaller tables directly beside the large, wall length window. Jinyoung always demands to sit on the sunny side, pushing Jaebum lightly in jest when he fakes like he’s going to sit down in Jinyoung’s chair. He laughs quietly, other students looking at them with disinterest before glancing away and resuming their own conversations. Jaebum sits down, watching as Jinyoung sets his backpack down on the desk before stepping into more of the sunlight and stretching.

“It’s not that early,” Jaebum says quietly, and Jinyoung turns around already aiming to punch him in the shoulder. 

“Shut up,” Jinyoung laughs, inching forward when Jaebum leans away from his hand. “The sun feels nice.”

Jinyoung sits down when their professor comes in, humming low under his breath. Jaebum feels so satisfied––it feels nice to finally be normal, not in the middle of yet another fight about his feelings or Jinyoung’s lack thereof or the unspoken tension that’s been mounting between them. Which of course is another thing entirely––24 years of friendship didn’t make them necessarily immune to curiosity ( _ “One kiss when we were 15 doesn’t count, Jaebum)  _ but it doesn’t explain the rest; the lingering touches, the unnerving sexual tension that comes and goes when Jinyoung thinks it benefits him most. Jaebum giving in, even though he shouldn’t be.

Jinyoung’s light tap on his forearm pulls him out of the rabbit hole of his thoughts and alerts him to the fact that he hasn’t been paying attention to the lesson for the last fifteen minutes or so. Their professor is caught up in a monologue, back facing the classroom as she writes on the board. Jaebum looks down as Jinyoung slides him a sheet of notebook paper, blank except for one line at the top in his cramped handwriting.

_ Hyung, what are you doing this weekend?  _

_ nothing,  _ he writes back, his sloppy and quick handwriting a sharp contrasts to Jinyoung’s.  _ why? _

He slides the paper back, trying to re-engage himself in the lesson as Jinyoung bends over the paper and starts writing a reply, but the professor is already knee-deep in some tangent and he finds himself totally lost. Jaebum just pretends to listen instead, cheek resting in his right hand and eyes moving downward as Jinyoung hands the paper back to him.

_ Let’s have a party!!!! :) :) :)  _

_ at my house? _

Jaebum leaves the paper in between them instead of sliding it back and forth, watching Jinyoung from the corner of his eye as he reaches over to respond.

_ Yes! _

_ what for?  _

Jinyoung scoots closer, the chair scraping audibly across the bleached linoleum. A few students look over before returning to the lesson, Jinyoung pressing himself against Jaebum’s side not enough of a distraction for them. But it’s enough of one for _him_ , feeling his face burning a little under the skin as Jinyoung’s thigh presses against his own. He’s not sure when he started getting so flustered by things like this, just that sometimes he  _ does.  _ It’s not always sexual, the concept of personal space a bit foreign to them after 24 years of friendship. But sometimes it  _ is,  _ and with Jinyoung’s increased lack of awareness or just plain not giving a fuck about boundaries lately the line seems to get blurred more and more. 

His denim clad thigh is warm where it presses against his as he hunches over the paper and writes as though it’s a test he’s worried Jaebum’s trying to cheat on. He feels tempted to put his hand under the desk, palm flat and spread across Jinyoung’s leg, fingertips pushing gently. He wonders what Jinyoung would do––he seems to have no problem coming onto  _ him  _ lately, what with sitting on his lap and feeling him up underneath his shirt. Jaebum’s a little interested to see if that curiosity goes both ways; if he’ll be rejected or welcomed with a touch that’s just a little bit more than friendly. His heart beats loudly in his ears all of a sudden, nervous like they’re fifteen and kissing with Jaebum’s mom just down the hallway. He feels ridiculous–– _ this is ridiculous, I’m 24 years old, if I want to put my hand on his leg I should just do it–– _ but his feelings, as always, leave their mark.  _ If you try this he’s going to reject you and you’re going to fight again. He doesn’t love you, and you shouldn’t do this.  _

So, against his better judgement, he does it anyway.

He slides his left hand off the grey tabletop while Jinyoung is still writing, letting it drop and disappear under the table where he gently lays it on Jinyoung’s leg. He doesn’t turn his head or even look as Jinyoung jumps, knee hitting the underside of the heavy plastic of the table when he does. Jinyoung’s pencil skids across the paper, but after the initial shock and the lovely twitch of his muscle under Jaebum’s hand, Jaebum watches him swallow and goes back to writing on their shared piece of notebook paper. Jaebum can’t deny the warm feeling in his chest at Jinyoung’s lack of rejection, and he squeezes Jinyoung’s thigh gently even as he continues to look toward the front. The boy beside him makes a quiet noise that he buries under an obviously-faked clearing of his throat, adjusting his leg so that it’s  _ closer  _ to him instead of  _ further away.  _ And indeed his thigh is as warm as he thought it would be, the denim tight against it, strong and firm under his hand where his fingertips gently press into it over his jeans. Jinyoung still hasn’t pulled away yet, leg still pressed firmly against Jaebum’s under the table and relaxed willingly underneath his hand. Jaebum slides it up further, just as a test, seeing how far Jinyoung will let him go. They’re in  _ class,  _ and  it feels so wrong to be testing his effect on Jinyoung in the classroom while their pretty English professor provides them with a lesson, but then he feels Jinyoung’s legs spreading a bit under his touch in his chair and he swallows down the sharp corner of desire in his throat. Jaebum wants to slide his hand up further, until the heel of his palm is at the juncture of Jinyoung’s hip and crotch; he feels dizzy with the unbelievable bizarreness of the situation as it stands already, but then Jinyoung leans up and taps the paper with his pencil. 

Without moving his hand and without Jinyoung moving it for him, he glances down to read.

Most of it is just obnoxious doodling around what he actually wrote, like he got bored halfway through explaining why they should have a party this weekend and just started drawing random shapes only to color them in halfway. There’s a doodle of the two of them in the margin, no more realistic than a first grader’s. It makes him smile a little anyway.

_ Why not?  _ Is the first part of Jinyoung’s answer.  _ The boys seem like they could use the fun, since midterms are coming up soon and we’re all going to have to start studying. Plus, we could stand to blow off some steam, no?  _

After this, it seems like Jinyoung starts writing to him in real time: 

_ I don’t know what Professor Jones is talking about. Do you? I haven’t been listening to her. I feel kind of bad, though, she’s nice. Your breathing just changed. What are you thinking about? Oh, you just put your hand on my leg. Did you mean to do that? You’re squeezing it now, so I think you meant to do that. Slide it up a little. That’s it. Why now, in the middle of class, hyung? You get upset when I stick my hands inside your shirt and touch your body but now you’re going to grab my thigh in class? Make up your mind, hyung. _

Jaebum’s heartbeat shatters in his ears. He pulls his hand away quickly and shoves it deep into the pocket of his hoodie, face reddening. Jinyoung sighs next to him.

Instead of addressing anything in the second half of his tirade, Jaebum just leans down and writes back,

_ Ok, fine. Party at my house this weekend.  _

He can’t shake the feeling that Jinyoung might be a little annoyed at him for touching his thigh, but then Jinyoung is drawing a big happy face on the rest of the page and digging an elbow into his ribs. Jaebum yelps, unable to stop the noise before it leaves his mouth, scooting away even as Jinyoung leans forward to bury his laugh in Jaebum’s shoulder. Everyone turns, including their professor this time, and Jaebum is utterly embarrassed when she raises an eyebrow at them. 

“You two lovebirds can finish flirting after class, right?” 

Jaebum can’t deny the way his stomach feels like it bottoms out after she says it, and he nudges Jinyoung off his shoulder with an elbow to his chest. Jinyoung just keeps smirking, a pretty blush across his cheekbones, but he obeys Jaebum’s silent request and sits up straight in his seat. The professor watches them for a moment longer, as though she’s waiting for them to fall into each other again. But Jaebum just sits up, watching her intently, feeling the wave of Jinyoung’s confusion where it’s being directed at the side of his head. Satisfied, their professor turns back to the lesson, picking up where she left off as though she’d never spoken Jaebum’s innermost desire at all. 

Jinyoung doesn’t do anything to cause a disruption during the rest of the lesson, but he stays pressed up against Jaebum’s body from shoulder to hip to thigh, and the warmth of him that bleeds in through their clothes is distracting all the same. 

 

**

 

After their class ends, they head to the library on campus to meet up with Jackson, Yugyeom, and Youngjae. They don’t talk about what happened; in fact, the both of them seem to be actively avoiding bringing it up, walking with an arm’s length of distance between them until they’re squeezing through the library doors past other students. The other three are already there by the time Jaebum and Jinyoung show up; Jinyoung has to stifle a laugh behind his hand when he sees Yugyeom and Jackson involved in a heated argument made comical by their harsh stage whispering. Youngjae just looks up over the edge of his book and rolls his eyes before seeing the two of them walk in. He waves, closing his book and shoving it back in his backpack as Jaebum and Jinyoung make their way over. Jackson and Yugyeom don’t seem to notice until Jaebum sticks his foot out and boots Yugyeom’s ass with it, knocking him forward into Jackson’s lap. 

The both of them yelp at the same time, earning them all stern looks from the librarian as they attempt to keep their laughter down. Jinyoung throws himself down on the long couch next to Youngjae, who immediately leans into his touch like a younger brother. Jaebum sits in an armchair across from the two of them and next to where Jackson and Yugyeom are still squabbling with each other before Yugyeom eventually settles across Jackson’s lap. 

“So,” Yugyeom says,  looking over at him. “A party this weekend is in the works, is it?” 

He looks over at Jinyoung, but Jinyoung is busy leaning in and whispering in Youngjae’s ear. Jaebum feels a bit guilty when that familiar flame of jealousy sparks in his stomach, just a little bit. Jaebum turns back to Yugyeom, confused but grinning. “How do you know already?”

Yugyeom wiggles his eyebrows. “I just know things, hyung.”

As if eternally exasperated by this, Jinyoung sighs across from them, all three of their heads swiveling in his direction. He's leaning his head on Youngjae’s shoulder, looking adorably sleepy. “It was his idea, originally. But he told me to ask you.” 

Jaebum finds himself getting distracted again by the shape of Jinyoung’s thighs where one is crossed over the other as he leans on Youngjae. But then he looks up, over at where Yugyeom’s face is reddening. “Wait, why? You could have asked.”

Yugyeom sighs. “I thought you might still be mad at me for what happened the other day and would say no.” 

Jaebum doesn’t miss the way that Jackson and Youngjae exchange confused glances, entirely out of the loop. Jinyoung stays quiet, looking up toward the ceiling and pretending like he isn’t listening. He actually hadn’t been mad at Yugyeom at all––maybe for a few minutes when he first left him and Jinyoung alone in the room, with some bullshit excuse that definitely gave it away that the whole thing was planned. But then Jinyoung had sat in his lap, intentionally doing...whatever it was that he was trying to do ( _ turn you on, idiot, he thinks sex will solve all your problems _ ) and he’d pretty much forgotten about and absolved Yugyeom of any guilt he might have been carrying. 

He can’t deny that he’s a little annoyed now, though, that Yugyeom would tell Jinyoung to do it. As though Jinyoung is like some weakness for him, someone that he’d never say no to and they all use it against him to get what they want.

_ Well? They’re not  _ wrong. 

Jaebum feels his face redden, both from embarrassment at his own thought and mild annoyance at Yugyeom. “What, so you thought you’d make Jinyoung do it so I wouldn’t say no?” 

Getting defensive, Yugyeom leans up on an elbow in Jackson’s lap. “Well, you didn’t say no, did you?” 

“No, but that’s not the point.”

Jackson and Youngjae look mildly uncomfortable to be caught up in the middle of this, and Jaebum wants to laugh at the way they’re looking at each other like they’re trying to come up with a quick getaway. But then Jinyoung groans, actually exasperated this time, and cuts him off before he can continue.

“Both of you shut up. Yugyeom, stop being a snake and using me to get to Jaebum. He loves you like you’re his little brother––”

Yugyeom exaggerates a sweet  _ awwwwww!  _ at this, while Jackson and Youngjae start to laugh while Jaebum sputters a weak protest. Continuing with a roll of his eyes and like none of them had spoken, Jinyoung says, “and Jaebum, quit being so combative. If you want to fight him, wait until we’re all drunk on Saturday and he can cry on the couch after you punch him.”

Now it’s Yugyeom’s turn to protest, sitting up off Jackson’s lap whining in Jinyoung’s direction. Jackson shoves him to the floor and he hits it will a  _ thud,  _ the noise reverberating off the stone walls of the near silent library. All five of them try to stifle their laughter as Yugyeom stands up indignantly, but they end up getting kicked out by the librarian anyway.

Once they’re all out on the grass outside and done wiping the tears from their eyes at Yugyeom’s expense, Youngjae pipes up. “Let’s call Mark hyung and Bambam. They should be out of class now, right?” 

Pulling out his phone, Jackson turns it so they can see the time before looking at it again to dial Mark’s number. “Yeah, they should be. Should we meet them somewhere?”

Jaebum warms when Jinyoung puts an arm on his shoulder and leans on it. “I’m kinda hungry.” Jinyoung looks up at him, all trace of the awkwardness gone, and Jaebum smiles a little. Jinyoung smiles back at him. “Are you?”

He nods. “Yeah, I could eat.”

Jackson holds the phone away from his mouth. “Mark said him and Bambam are hungry too. They want us to meet them downtown at the ramen place by the mall.”

Youngjae shrugs. “Sounds good to me. Did anyone drive today?”

Jaebum and Jinyoung shake their heads in unison. “No, we took the bus.”

Jackson confirms with Mark that they’re going to take the bus, and the five of them start heading to the bus stop once they hang up. Jaebum falls back a little, enjoying the crispness of the air and watching the four of them talk to each other and laugh and joke around. After a few minutes Jinyoung waits for him to catch up, walking alongside him in silence before he finally speaks up.

“It’s nice, right?”

Jaebum looks over at him. “What is?” 

He gestures in front of them to the boys. “All of us. Nobody fighting, all of us just having a good time.”   


“Yeah,” he says, and means it. “It’s nice.” 

Jinyoung smiles at him, radiant and real, and that familiar ache creeps into his chest when he realizes that he can’t kiss it the way he wants to. But if his face changes with the feeling, Jinyoung doesn’t say anything about it, leaving the smile in place as he bumps Jaebum’s shoulder with his own. “C’mon, hyung, enough being sappy. We can burn off some energy this weekend, right?” Jinyoung skips up ahead, walking backward to watch him as he catches up with their boys, Jaebum jogging the last few steps until they’re all grouped together again and waiting for the bus. 

It’s that similar turn of phrase he used earlier, but Jaebum lets it go. Jinyoung’s last words seem to be intended just for him, a little smile turning up one corner of his mouth as he playfully tugs at Jaebum’s sweatshirt drawstring. “We’ll have a good time, hyung.”

A double entendre if he’s ever heard one. He just grins back though, sure that Jinyoung means all of them. He pushes Jinyoung’s shoulder, laughing when he bumps into Yugyeom and Yugyeom turns to whine at him like it’s his fault. “Sure, Jinyoungie, we will.”  
  
Jinyoung seems satisfied by this, and there’s finally a feeling of content in Jaebum’s chest instead of heartache.

 

 


	4. iv. bad habit

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> an update on time! yay!! i have a lot of stuff due next couple of weeks so next update might be a little late! i'm sorry!! 
> 
> also, I have to post this right before work so i only skimmed edited it, i'll edit it more later if necessary <3333 enjoy!!

For the first time in a while, everything is perfect. No one is fighting, their weird sexual tension aside. Everyone is happy, everyone's excited about the party, and everything feels just right. 

Which is, of course, when the other shoe drops. Because in Jaebum’s experience, it always does. 

They're out eating ramen, him and Mark, while they wait for Jackson and Bambam to get out of the movie they're seeing down the road. Yugyeom and Youngjae are suspiciously both busy, which means they're likely playing video games together and don't want to be disturbed. As for Jinyoung, Jaebum has no idea—he hasn't been answering his phone all day. 

Jaebum sets his chopsticks down and picks up his phone to try again. He watches the sun go down out the window of the ramen shop, the tops of all the buildings on the horizon warped and glittering with a line of burning orange as dusk falls quickly. Mark just watches the side of his face, loudly slurping his ramen and patiently waiting for the same thing as Jaebum: for the phone to ring, and ring, and ring, and then finally go to voicemail. 

He sighs, putting his phone screen down on the table so he doesn't look at it. “He hasn't answered all day. As far as I know I didn't do anything to piss him off, so I'm not sure he's mad at me.” 

Mark shrugs and slurps more noodles into his mouth before trying to talk around them. The broth splashes against the navy blue of his oversized college sweatshirt, but Jaebum finds it endearing instead of gross that the oldest member in their friend group kind of eats like a toddler sometimes. 

“He's not mad,” Mark says, swallowing the noodles down. “I can promise you that.” 

Jaebum has a few more mouthfuls of his broth before putting the spoon down on the plate and leaning back, looking down at his phone where he's browsing through it lazily in one hand. The other arm slung casually across the back of his chair as though he's not slowly starting to wind tight with the anxiety of Jinyoung’s absence. 

More loud slurping from Mark’s side of the table before he hears the clatter of a soup spoon in an empty bowl. He looks up, Mark dabbing at his mouth with a napkin and leaning back in his own chair with a deep breath, like he's too full to breathe correctly. “You remember what day it is, right?”

One of Jaebum’s dark. triangular eyebrows goes up in question. “No? It's Wednesday, a couple days before the party, as far as I know. Is today special?” 

Truthfully, one of Jaebum’s favorite traits of Mark’s personality is his unflinching ability to deliver bad news with a neutral expression. Mark is impressively calculated; it doesn't mean he doesn't care, it just means he knows how to say things people don't enjoy saying in a way that allows him to adjust accordingly to the reaction. But because of the uniqueness of this trait, it's easy to spot, and his heart sinks a little as that familiar neutrality crosses Mark’s face where he reclines in his chair. He clears his throat quietly, as though he has to be delicate, and Jaebum resists the urge to hurry him with a wave of his hands. 

“His date with Hyunwoo is tonight,” Mark says, eyes looking unflinchingly into his own, not giving away any personal feelings on the matter. “Started a few hours ago, actually, as far as I know. That's why he hasn't been answering his phone.” 

His heart sinks inside his chest like a heavy stone in the sea. The news doesn't shock him; it doesn't even surprise him in any way. In fact, he feels a bit stupid—he has known about this date, hasn't he? He knew it was coming. Jaebum swallows roughly, eyes locked on Mark’s still, as his brain works to catch up and react appropriately (or, as usual in his case, inappropriately). His mind works backward, to the day Jinyoung told him, their conversation playing back to him like a perfect recording. But he realizes that, no, he didn't really know—Jinyoung hadn't even told him that day whether or not he'd accepted the date. Just that he had wanted it. 

He deflates visibly, sinking back in his chair. He had known, in his way, that this was happening. Jaebum just didn't expect to hear it now, or that the reason Jinyoung hasn't answered him all day is because for once he was preoccupied with someone else. In the cavern of his chest, his heart kicks painfully once and settles. 

“Hey, man, I'm sorry,” Mark says softly, even though Jaebum isn't really sure what he's apologizing for. “I didn't mean to—”

Sitting up, Jaebum waves him off and grabs his ramen spoon just to have something to do with the hand not clutching his phone. “It's not your fault, hyung. It's okay. I'm not like, upset or anything.” He chuckles bitterly.

Mark doesn't believe him. 

“It's not a big deal, hyung—”

“Do you guys ever talk about it?” Mark interrupts, and Jaebum just falls heavily back against his chair with wide eyes. “I mean, do you guys ever talk about your feelings?”

“No,” Jaebum says, eyes down toward the table now, like he's ashamed. “I've already told him I don't want to.” 

“You don't want to talk about your feelings in particular, or don't want to talk about his either?” 

He fiddles the scrunched wrapper of his straw between two of his fingers, eyes on the movement and too ashamed to look up. “I already know how he feels. We have nothing to talk about.” 

“Is that so?” Mark says, that neutral expression as intimidating as ever where he crosses his arms across this thing chest. “How do you know?”

Jaebum looks up at him for a moment, studying the sharp line of his nose while he thinks of an answer. The one he has is weak. “Because I'm his best friend, and I know everything about him.” 

The calm quiet of the ramen shop bursts for a moment under Mark’s laughter. Jaebum reddens. He's not sure what there is to laugh about, really, seeing as he’s right. But Mark just barks a laugh anyway, leaning an elbow on the table and glancing behind him as the bell over the door jingles. Mark looks back into his face with a knowing half-smile, halfway through saying “Maybe you’re wrong for once” before he’s looking back over Jaebum’s head in surprise.

Moments later, Jinyoung is dropping himself heavily into one of the chairs at their table. He looks... _ hot _ , dressed in those tight khaki pants of his with a black button up done to the neck. The heavy grey cardigan looks suspiciously like the one Jaebum owns, and he wonders for a moment when’s the last time he’d seen it. Jinyoung doesn’t say anything as he settles in with his eyes on the table, just adjusts the skinny black tie around his neck so that it hangs a little loosely against his chest. Mark looks dumbfounded, mouth hanging slightly open where he’d been in the middle of a sentence.

Jinyoung looks up finally, a faint flush underneath the skin of his cheeks. “Well? Who’s going to ask me if I want some ramen?” 

Jaebum has to bite down on the urge to laugh, because a part of him thinks this situation isn’t really that funny. Jinyoung made a joke but there wasn’t really anything behind it, and the set of his shoulders and the nervous dancing of his fingers at his already loosened tie give Jaebum the feeling that something is up.

“Aren’t you supposed to be on a date?” Mark asks finally, the shock wearing off and settling into resignation.

Both Jaebum and Jinyoung go to flinch, but only Jinyoung’s is outward. He makes a face, an unhappy one, and Jaebum’s gut rises and falls with warring sensations of elation and guilt. 

“I  _ was,”  _ he says, bitterly emphasizing the past tense. “But it’s over already.”

Mark’s dark eyebrow shoots up. “Really? Already?” 

Jinyoung sighs, then nods. “Yes.”

On the other side of the table, Jaebum continues to stay quiet. He stares at the corner of Jinyoung’s jaw, unwilling or unable to look directly at him. His stomach hurts, and his body is trying to run before his brain figures out the best course of doing so without igniting another fight. 

“What happened?” Mark asks, always unflinchingly honest, even though Jaebum is less than a foot away from them both and really doesn’t want to hear about it. But he stays, anyway; unsure if it’s because he wants to hear how bad Jinyoung’s date when to make himself feel better or because he wants to be a good friend and make Jinyoung feel better. 

“He said I talk too much,” Jinyoung says, and Jaebum finally glances up to see Jinyoung already looking at him. 

Mark kind of chortles awkwardly. “He said you talk too much? Haven’t you guys known him for a long time?” 

Jaebum nods, but it’s his only participation in the conversation so far. 

A silence gradually descends upon the table. Mark is still looking at Jinyoung expectantly, waiting for him to elaborate, but Jinyoung is looking at  _ Jaebum,  _ who’s also looking at Jinyoung, and the three of them are tensed like at any moment the ramen shop is going to break out in a fight and they’re deciding who can draw a knife the fastest. Even Mark, normally immune to weird emotional drama like this, seems tense, eyebrows drawn like something’s really wrong with the abrupt shift in atmosphere.

Finally, Jinyoung breaks the tension. “Yes. But he said that, if I want to have successful dates in the future, I shouldn’t talk about Jaebum so much.”

Silence.

Utter, devastating silence.

Mark’s face is torn between looking surprised and confused and not surprised at all, as though this is some startling revelation that everyone already knew about but no one would say out loud. Jinyoung just stares down at the table, flushed deeper red up to his ears, unwilling to look up now where Jaebum is staring at him in his own, honest shock.  _ Hyunwoo called off his date with Jinyoung because he was talking about  _ me  _ too much?  _

His voice practically squeaks out of his mouth.  _ “What?”  _

The younger boy flinches at the sound of Jaebum’s voice for the first time since he’d arrived. Mark just makes a weird noise, somewhere between a hoot and a laugh covered up by a cough as he stands up to dig his wallet from his pocket. He throws some bills on the table as the awkward tension mounts, Jaebum staring at the top of Jinyoung’s eyebrows where he’s almost completely bowed toward the table. 

“I think you guys need to talk this out,” he says, stuffing his wallet back in the front pocket of his jeans. Jaebum reaches out to grab his wrist when he’s pulling out his phone, and Mark looks down at him.

He doesn’t say anything, but hopes the look of panic on his face is enough to convey to Mark that  _ holy shit please don’t leave I don’t know what to do.  _

Their friend just laughs a little, twisting out of Jaebum’s wrist and patting him on the head. “Really. Talk it out. Let’s not have another fight right before the party this weekend, okay? Sort it out now, and get it over with.”

With that, Mark leaves the table and lets the door swing shut behind him. The bell above it dings with his exit, and silence at their table follows under the surrounding low hum of the ramen shop oblivious to the drama unfolding. 

Neither of them say anything for a long time. A waitress comes by and offers Jinyoung food, but he hardly even looks up at her when he shakes his head and declines quietly. What was left of Jaebum’s ramen goes cold, and it no longer looks appealing to him as he stares at Jinyoung’s face and wonders what to say. There’s not really anything to be angry about; he doesn’t feel like fighting, necessarily, but the thing about their friendship is that just because neither of them really  _ feel  _ like fighting doesn’t mean they won’t. 

When it becomes clear that Jinyoung isn’t going to initiate anything, Jaebum sighs heavily. “I guess I just don’t get it.” 

Jinyoung looks up, face colored with misery. “I don’t either.” 

Swallowing his feelings, Jaebum clears his throat quietly and leans an elbow on the table. “Well, how was the date otherwise?” 

“It was fine,” he says, his voice quiet. “He took me to lunch, and that was nice. We went to that place out by Gangnam that you really like. We just talked about stuff, caught up with each other since it’s been a while, but I could tell by the end of lunch he was getting annoyed. I wasn’t sure why. I started to worry about it. We, uh,” Jinyoung looks at him, face getting redder before looking away again toward the kitchen. “I suggested we go back to his place and he seemed into it. He showed me around his apartment and he had all kinds of knick knacks lying around, and there were some that I knew you had and some that you’d like, so I asked him where he’d gotten them. Then we...you know,” he finishes lamely, trailing off with a shrug.

Jaebum does know. He understands completely that what Jinyoung had meant but not said, that he’d gone to Hyunwoo’s apartment to have sex and that’s what they did. Jaebum closes his eyes against the awful, awful feeling crawling up his throat. Everything’s been so good for the past few days, and he’s so hell bent on not shattering that, but he can’t help the way his chest constricts with jealousy. Jinyoung isn’t his but the thought of someone else with their hand son his slim, naked body, getting to admire it, worship it the way he wants to still makes him feel like throwing up. 

Somewhere along the way Jinyoung started talking again, his eyes closed, still looking up toward the kitchen. “––and then I said your name, which made him really, really mad. And after that I left.”  

Jaebum had tuned in right at the very end, and had entirely missed the beginning of whatever next part of the story he’d been telling. “Wait, what? You said my name and he got mad? Why would that make him mad?”

At this, Jinyoung actually looks at him. His eyebrows are knitted together in confusion. “Wouldn’t that make  _ you  _ mad?” 

“Why would it?” 

And then a look passes over Jinyoung’s face, as though something he’d been trying to figure out finally clicked into place. “You haven’t been listening.” It’s not really a question; more like he’s just stating a fact and waiting for Jaebum to confirm it. 

Now would be the worst time to lie. He flushes a little in embarrassment. “No. I haven’t. Sorry.”

Jaebum tenses like Jinyoung is going to be angry with him, but he’s surprised when Jinyoung relaxes back into his cushioned chair and sighs with a heavy relief. That flush of his is still there, stained across his cheeks and pinking the tops of his ears. The tension around them dissipates a little, though not completely. 

“Wait,” Jaebum says, obviously lost now. “What do you mean? Why was he angry that you said my name?”

Jinyoung sighs, giving him a look that seems pitying, which makes him feel irritated. But then the look disappears, replaced with something a little sad, and a little resigned. “Because I said it too much, apparently,” Jinyoung says, and leans up onto his elbows on the table. The table they’re sitting at is round, Mark’s chair empty and the two of them sitting close enough together that their knees touch underneath it when Jinyoung sits up. “When I was leaving, he was like, ‘it’s all, Jaebum hyung this and Jaebum hyung that’,” Jinyoung says, mocking Hyunwoo’s voice in a way that kind of makes him want to laugh but he holds it back instead. “He didn’t get it. ‘I don’t get why you keep talking about him when you’re with me’, he said. I just told him I didn’t get what he meant. Hyunwoo hyung told me that ‘he’s not even here and you’ve brought him up several times already. I don’t get it’. And I didn’t get it either.” 

He’s trying to just focus on the story, watching Jinyoung’s mouth where it’s slightly pushed out in a pout where his hands are squishing his cheeks together. His heart is beating in his ears, loud enough for him to notice it, and to calmly place a hand on his chest in order to slow it. Things like this have always done something strange to him; he feels weirdly happy, knowing Jinyoung talked about him so much it apparently made Hyunwoo mad enough to call off their date. But the other part, the sensible part of him, tears at his happiness and reminds him that it isn’t what it sounds like.  _ Don’t read into it, you’re just going to get hurt.  _

Jinyoung shrugs. “So after he got mad, we agreed the date was over and I left. I called Youngjae and he told me you guys were here, so I walked down from his apartment.”

“You’re not upset?”

“Not really, I guess,” Jinyoung says, reaching over to pick up Jaebum’s soup spoon and dip it in his ramen. Jaebum laughs quietly at the sour face Jinyoung makes when he realizes that it’s gone ice cold and drops the spoon. Jinyoung looks up at him, and, aware of the distance, realize that their faces are close. 

Jaebum looks down, eyes on where their knees are touching. Warmth spreads into him from the point of contact, Jinyoung’s skinny knee in his khakis a sharp contrast to the dark of Jaebum’s jeans. “Well, we’ve been best friends our whole lives. It makes sense that you’d talk about me, or bring up something relevant to the conversation. I do it all the time.” 

“Oh, hyung…” Jinyoung’s voice sounds... _ sad.  _ He looks up in confusion, an expression on Jinyoung’s face that reads like forlorn. As though Jaebum had just said something depressing, or something he didn’t quite understand. Jaebum opens his mouth to say something, anything, to clear it. But then Jinyoung’s hand is on his leg, warm palm on his thigh and whatever words he’d had spiral down the drain and tingle down his spine. He swallows roughly, aware that they’ve been playing this stupid game for days now; like high school kids in the back of the bus touching each other going  _ are you nervous?  _ with each centimeter of movement. He doesn’t move, chest tight, wondering if he should say something when Jinyoung slips his hand up further. 

Jaebum just looks down, keeps his eyes on the long, delicate fingers of Jinyoung’s hand where they’re pressing into the thickness of his thigh as he squeezes a little. The sensation travels up, and he had to press his thighs together to keep from getting noticably worked up by it. He’s overly aware of the fact that they’re in  _ public–– _ they’re dead center in a quite busy ramen shop, with no large school desks to conceal the movement of Jinyoung’s hand as it slips just a little bit further toward his crotch. 

“What are you doing?” He asks, breathless, aware of Jinyoung’s eyes burning a hole through the top of his head. The touch is warm, spreading into his thigh and up toward his stomach, but he’s not sure if it’s supposed to be sexual or comforting. All these games of chicken between them with the boundaries of their desires have the lines blurred so much that they’re unreadable. 

“Hyung,” Jinyoung says and his voice is thick, in a way Jaebum’s never heard before, and it makes him look up. 

He feels like he’s being hit when he does, a look in Jinyoung’s eye that he’s seen before but has never been directed at him. It’s dark, and it’s heady, and the fingers on the inside of his leg gently trace patterns into the denim as Jinyoung watches him closely. His heart slams hard against his ribs, unsure what to do––Jinyoung seems so dangerous now, a lion with a deer in his crosshairs. He wants it, god, he wants it, wants Jinyoung’s hand to slip just just that last few inches until his hand is in his lap and unbuckling his belt. But he’s not sure that the pain that would come after would be worth the giving in; not like this, when Jinyoung had just come off an awful date and is clearly looking for the kind of comfort that Jaebum so desperately wants to give but knows he shouldn't.

He plays along anyway, Jinyoung's desire like a bad habit; this whole game they're playing like one he can't shake. Sweat gathers at his hairline toward the base of his neck and he swallows.

“What are you doing?” he asks again, lower this time, desire coloring his own voice like honey and he watches in simple amazement as it changes the look on Jinyoung’s face to one like he’s about to beg. 

“What do you want?” Jinyoung whispers, his hand burning through the denim of Jaebum’s pants, fire coiling in his stomach and it burns; there’s embers crackling in the space between them that spark with every watched movement of someone’s throat when they swallow in the silence and tongues wet lips with nervous anticipation of an answer he’s not sure either of them are expecting. 

_ Everything,  _ Jaebum says to himself,  _ I want everything.  _

But that is not this life. And he knows it. 

He grabs Jinyoung’s wrist gently, the younger’s eyes widening when he isn’t sure in which direction Jaebum is going to lead his hand. But Jaebum just stands up, pulling Jinyoung with him, keeping his fingers loosely around Jinyoung’s wrist as he pays to give Jinyoung the opportunity to take his hand back. He doesn’t. Jinyoung’s hand stays limply grasped under Jaebum’s fingers around his wrist as he throws money on top of Mark’s, turning so that they’re facing each other under the dim lights of the ramen shop. No one is paying attention to them, but even if they were, the reflection of the tiny string lights over their heads that reflect in the dark pools of Jinyoung’s eyes as he looks at him makes him feel like it’s just the two of them in the universe, anyway. 

Jaebum lets go of Jinyoung’s wrist, unsure if the look that passes across his handsome features is disappointment or relief. But either way, Jinyoung just smiles at him, and it’s real. Jaebum breathes easily with the knowledge that another fight has missed them, and they walk shoulder to shoulder with their wrists bumping down the road to meet Jackson and Bambam at the cinema. 

And if Jinyoung looks over at him under the lights of the marquee with that same distant sadness that he’s looked at Jinyoung with all these years, he doesn’t notice it. 

 


	5. v. we just play along

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> updating super early bc i have tons of school work this week and i need to give myself a head start to hopefully be on time next week ahhHHHHHH
> 
> anyway (pls see the updated tags)................sorry.......enjoy~

Jaebum’s apartment isn’t big, and it feels even smaller when there’s ten plus people packed into the tiny living room shoulder to shoulder and drunk off their asses.

Despite the strangeness that occurred in the ramen shop just a few days before, the two of them are getting along just like they always have. In fact, the whole incident seems strangely Twilight Zone-esque in that neither of them have talked about it––not even Mark has brought it up, and so, for all intents and purposes, it’s like it never happened. But even as Jaebum looks at Jinyoung through a booze fueled haze, he knows it did, and the part of him that’s not busy checking him out whenever he’s not looking is wondering what it really meant. Or if it meant anything at all. 

It doesn’t bother him enough to bring it up, though, and by the time he’s drunk enough to mostly push it to the back of his mind, the party is in full swing. Youngjae asked some of his soccer teammates; Jackson a few of his fencing buddies; Yugyeom and Bambam asked a bunch of girls that Jaebum’s never seen; and Mark was nice enough not to bring anyone but himself. There’s at least twenty people crammed into his tiny apartment including the seven of them, and the tight space makes for lots of bumping shoulders and holding waists as he passes. Mostly everyone is drunk and doesn’t mind––he’s even had a few of the random girls Yugyeom and Bambam had asked over eyeing him from behind the rims of their drinks from across the room, but he just flashes them a smile and moves away.

Also having this many people in his apartment at once means that, regardless of having the air on and it being relatively cold outside with the porch door open, it’s hotter than hell in the living room. Jaebum’s leaning on Mark’s shoulder, sweat dripping down his neck with the combination of all the body heat and the four mixed drinks he’s pounded already. Low chatter is occasionally broken up by loud, raucous laughter, everyone in on the joke even if they aren’t. Jaebum thinks he can see the brick wall of his living room starting to sweat, even, and he groans as he buries his face in Mark’s shoulder.

“Mark, it’s so fucking hot in here,” he complains drunkenly, leaning heavily on the older boy who laughs and tries to keep them both upright.

“Take your shirt off, then,” he suggests, nudging Jaebum’s chest with his elbow.

His vision swims as he looks down at the black zipup hoodie he’s wearing over a dark shirt, ripped jeans tight against his legs and only building on the heat that clings to his body. His brain sluggishly weighs the pros and cons of stripping off his shirt in the middle of the party:

_ Pros: won’t be hot anymore. I live here, can be shirtless in my own house. _

_ Cons: girls will notice. Everyone will make a scene. Will be the only shirtless person in the apartment. Probably looks trashy to not wear a shirt while holding a beer.  _

He sighs. “I don’t think I can do it, man.” 

Mark laughs and slaps him on the back, the liquid in his cup splashing as he sways a little with the movement. “You’ll figure it out,” he says, and melts into the small crowd.

Shrugging, Jaebum looks around the party from where he goes to lean against the brick wall next to his stereo system. It’s not exactly a ton of people, so he just thinks he must be really, really, drunk to have people’s faces all blurring together as he looks around the room. His eyes finally find Jinyoung, across the apartment in the small kitchen with his head leaned against the wall and a cup in his hand. Whoever he’s talking to seems to be dominating the conversation, as Jinyoung just watches him with glassy eyes and a bored smile that he occasionally breaks with a long sip from his glass. As though he feels Jaebum watching, he looks over and catches his eye; the smile on his face widens, turns real, and sends warmth curling in Jaebum’s gut. Jaebum smiles back at him, sure his face is flushed and warm and he’s a little bit embarrassed. 

Before he can go to Jinyoung, though, Jackson is running into him and practically pinning him to the wall. Jaebum startles when Jackson cages him in with one hand pressed to the brick on either side of his head. 

Jackson just laughs, though, loud and high pitched, and leans away. He shoves Jaebum’s shoulder lightly and exclaims, “come on, party boy. Put on some music!” 

He says this loud enough to be heard, and the sentiment is backed with cheers and shouts of agreement. Jackson shakes his shoulders a little bit and laughs too loud. Jaebum’s drunk enough to throw an arm around his neck and drag him down to look through his iPod instead of shoving him away.

They go through his music together, quickly and efficiently putting together a party appropriate playlist. Jackson evens out all his low, sexy R&B with some fun and fast-paced electronic songs so that there will be plenty of dancing and plenty of grinding. Jaebum isn’t exactly sure he really wants a bunch of people grinding in his living room to the songs he sometimes shamelessly jerks off to but, hey. It’s a party, he’s drunk, and who cares. Satisfied, Jackson hits shuffle at the same time as he slaps Jaebum’s back. He quickly straightens and lets out a loud  _ whoop!  _ that is echoed by all the people in the living room, and Jaebum stands just in time to see Jinyoung yelling with a his cup held high over his head. Their eyes meet again; Jinyoung pulls both of his lips into his mouth before letting them go slowly where they spread into a smile. Something about it is deliberate, and it makes Jaebum swallow roughly and look away. 

Yugyeom jumps on his back as the next song starts and Jackson, still standing by the stereo, cranks the volume. Five pairs of his friend’s eyes find him immediately, coupled with lots of distorted hooting and  _ ayyyyy Jaebum hyung this is your song!  _ as everyone just watches and sways to the beat. He reddens immediately; embarrassed and trying to hide his face in his hoodie as the beat of a sexy ELO song picks up and thumps through the speakers. His friends aren’t wrong––this  _ is  _ his song; it’s his “bad girl at the club song”, and his friends are the first ones to gas him up when it comes on and he can’t help but dance. He's aware that Jinyoung is here somewhere and that no matter where he starts dancing, Jinyoung will be able to see him. He’s always been a little bit embarrassed by sexy dancing, no matter who’s watching, but tonight he  _ just might  _ be drunk enough not to care.

Still clinging to his back, their youngest friend and greatest antagonist shakes him by the shoulders. “Come on hyung! Get on the table and show us what you got!” 

Jaebum looks at his coffee table where it has suspiciously been cleared already. It’s a wonder the cops haven’t been called yet; the beat of the song vibrates up his legs through the wooden floor, and he can feel the way the beat of it makes him want to move. Youngjae, standing right next to him and yelling at the top of his lungs for him to get on the table before the song’s over, yelps in surprise when Jaebum snatches the cup from his hand and downs it in one go. He hands it back to cheers across the apartment, one hand on Yugyeom’s shoulder as he hops unsteadily onto his coffee table. It’s not the strongest––he can feel it shift a little under his weight as he adjusts and plants his feet, looking out into the small crowd of people gathered in his living room drunkenly cheering him on. Jaebum catches Bambam’s eye as he dives for the iPod, still being guarded by Jackson, and manages to start the song over before Jackson slaps his hand. 

Holding his drink up, Bambam sways on his feet as he crows, “there you go hyung! Let’s see the whole thing!” 

He just laughs. It’s ridiculous, and he’s sure it  _ looks _ ridiculous as he sort of awkwardly starts to move his body to the beat, but he closes his eyes against everyone watching and tries to tune out the whistling and hollering to just feel the music. With his eyes closed the room spins a little less, though he can still feel where his sense of balance has him rocking back and forth on his heels to keep himself upright.  _ Holy shit I’m drunk,  _ he thinks to himself, laughing with his eyes closed as he starts to roll his hips. There’s not much he can do with how small the table is, so his performance includes a lot of hip rolling and body waves to the beat that he can feel shattering up his thighs and into the pit of his stomach. People are actually cheering for him, yelling  _ fuck yeah Jaebum work it!  _ and other expletives; some of the girls even audibly talking about  _ how good he must be in bed if he works his hips like that and oh my god I would love to fuck him _ . 

Halfway through the song and the alcohol is really starting to block his sense of decorum. Jaebum gets into it, sliding his hands down his thighs and back up as he rolls his hips and does little turns as he sways back and forth. It makes him laugh a little when he thinks he must look like a really untalented stripper. Which gives him an idea, and he moves his hands to the zipper of his hoodie as he works his upper body and sweat drips down his neck. There’s more hollering and catcalling as he slowly unzips it, lip caught between his teeth and pushing down the laughter to try and look sexy while he does it. Jaebum would never admit this sober but he starts feeling himself a little bit, working his body until the table starts to feel a little unsteady under his feet and he slides his hoodie from his arms and lets it drop to the table. Jackson screams at the top of his lungs when Jaebum hooks his fingers under the hem of his shirt and pulls it torturously slow over his head and drops it, too.

Now he’s shirtless and dancing like a drunk stripper (which, really, he might as well be at this point) on the coffee table. The song is winding down but he’s still dancing, thrusting his hips a little and whatever else his body tells him to do; he finally opens his eyes and the first thing he sees is Jinyoung, watching him from across the room.

His back is to the wall in the small offset of the kitchen that would be a dining room if Jaebum had a table in it. Their eyes catch for a third time over the course of the party but this time they hold: Jinyoung is watching him with sharp eyes, and even drunk and across the room up on the coffee table Jaebum can see how dark they are. How heavy, his eyelids half shuttered over them like window shades. The coals of Jaebum’s desire warm to life in his gut as Jinyoung watches him roll his body and run his hands through his hair. It’s drenched in sweat, and he drags his hands to his collarbones and down his chest where they slide with the perspiration on his skin. The whole room narrows and disappears down to the two of them with their eyes locked; Jaebum forgets every other person in the room as he starts to mouth the words directly to Jinyoung, who doesn’t look away even for a second.

_ Yeah, I found you baby, you must be an angel, an angel… _

Jaebum makes the mistake of looking down to see Jinyoung’s bottom lip pulled tight between his teeth. Even where Jaebum’s up on the coffee table he can see Jinyoung’s knuckles whitening where he grips the glass in his hand, held close to his chest and still where he’s alone against the far wall. Something important transpires between them in the moment between Jaebum going still at the end of the song and people cheering for him, never looking away from the boy he’s been so desperately in love with, and the moment Jinyoung exhales as though he’d been holding his breath the whole time. Electricity seems to crackle from the breath that leaves Jinyoung’s mouth and it crawls up Jaebum’s arms and legs, goosebumps erupting all across his skin. If there weren’t so many people in the apartment right now, he’s pretty sure he’d be off the table and pushing Jinyoung up against the wall he’s leaning against in a heartbeat.

As it is, the song ends and so does the moment. Jaebum breaks the eye contact when Mark grabs his wrist and yanks him down from the table, the two of them braying exhilarated laughter as they go careening into the brick. Mark catches him around the shoulders and shoves him upright, a smile splitting his handsome face in half. “That was fucking beautiful,” Mark shouts over the new song that starts playing, slapping him on the back. Still shirtless, it stings a little, but he’s so fucking drunk it just feels like a tingle and he laughs instead.

“Thanks, I tried  _ really  _ hard.” 

Mark laughs again. “I’m pretty sure you could get between any pair of legs in here right now, Jaebum, after that show.” 

Leaning down, he blindly grabs for what he thinks is his shirt but ends up being his hoodie. Shrugging it on, he zips it up halfway to conceal the lower half of his bare stomach. A look passes between the two of them as Mark’s comment sinks in, and, for once, Jaebum smiles. “Yeah. Maybe, actually.” 

With his trademark shark-toothed grin, Mark shoves him away. “Good luck.” 

  
_  
  


 

Later, when most of the extra people have left and it’s just the seven of them crowded around a fold out card table Jaebum borrowed from the downstairs neighbor the week before, they decide to play cards.

As they’re all struggling to set up (they’re all so wasted by this point that it takes two of them to try and even unfold the legs of the plastic table), Jaebum can’t help but feel Jinyoung’s eyes on his back. In fact, he’s pretty sure that Jinyoung’s been watching him ever since his impromptu table dance ended, and it’s slowly fanning the flames in his gut. He’s glad everyone’s drunk and no one notices that he’s been basically half hard for the past hour and constantly looking in whatever direction Jinyoung happens to be in. He’s still got his hoodie on with no shirt under it, zipped halfway to expose his chest and it billows out away from him a bit when he crouches down to pick up some discarded labels off the floor. Jaebum stands just as Youngjae is yelling for him in the dining nook, but he meets Jinyoung’s eyes instead.

To be more accurate he meets the tops of Jinyoung’s eyelids, as his eyes are currently focused down the gap between Jaebum’s hoodie and his stomach. He seems to notice Jaebum looking at him, and a pretty dark red blush creeps up his throat to the tops of his ears when he gets caught. Jaebum feels the beer labels crumple in his hand as he balls up his fist in frustrated desire. Jaebum wants him  _ so fucking bad,  _ more so than he ever has tonight, and it’s amplified by a thousand with the alcohol and the way Jinyoung won’t stop watching him.

“What?” Jaebum says, his voice low, and, despite being drunk, he doesn’t miss the way Jinyoung seems to shiver just a little bit.

“Nothing,” he says, but the advantage to knowing someone for their entire life is that it’s easier to tell when they’re lying after excessive drinking. Jinyoung might be a pretty good actor when he’s sober, but he’s a terrible liar when he’s drunk, and Jaebum can read the look in his eyes and the set of his mouth pretty easily.

“I just––”

But Jinyoung doesn’t get to finish, because Youngjae calls his attention away and Jaebum lets the moment pass unfinished.

“You only have five chairs,” Youngjae says when Jaebum comes back from throwing away the discarded beer labels. The card table is folded out in the space where a dining table would be right off the kitchen, the other boys chattering while Bambam lays across the top of it warbling at the top of his lungs. Youngjae just scratches his head. “Actually, I’m surprised you even have this many, considering you don’t even have a kitchen table.”

Jaebum shrugs as he grips Bambam’s ankle to drag him off the tabletop to shut him up. He hits the ground with a thud and complains loudly as Yugyeom equally as loudly tries to help him up. 

“Some of them are the neighbor’s,” he says, looking at the five chairs crowded around the card table. 

“Two people are going to have to do lap sitting,” Youngjae shrugs, which immediately has Bambam piping up where he’s slung across Yugyeom’s neck. 

“I got dibs on Yugyeom,” he says, which earns him a punch in the ribs. But the other boys just brush it off and settle, with only Jinyoung lingering at the edge of the table.

He wants to be surprised when Jinyoung slides nonchalantly into his lap and not Mark’s or Jackson’s. But with the way they’ve been eye-fucking across his living room all night, he’s actually  _ not _ surprised for once, and he’s too drunk to care about how he’ll feel about this later. He just knows that, right now, it feels fucking good to have the warmth and weight of Jinyoung’s peach shaped ass settling against his already sensitive cock and he covers up his grunt with a weak cough. 

If anyone else thinks they’re being obvious, they don’t say anything. The card game commences with lots of shouting by round 2, with the younger boys constantly arguing for points which just makes the rest of them burst into loud, drunken laughter. Every so often Jinyoung will shift his weight, thighs sliding against Jaebum’s, and he’d swear to god that Jinyoung is bowing his back like that on purpose so that a little gap appears between the waistband of his light wash jeans and the strip of tan, unmarked skin on his lower back. And, because of this, every so often Jaebum will hold his cards in one hand and lean forward like he’s going to talk to someone around Jinyoung’s mass, which he does so in order to cover up the way he lightly drags his fingers across that exposed strip of skin that Jinyoung is teasing him with. He struggles to keep his brain on track as he feels the goosebumps that appear underneath his fingertips and the way Jinyoung seems to shift back into his lap, harder.

Tension just builds and builds the more that Jinyoung finds subtle ways to tease him. It’s the adjusting in his lap so that his ass grinds against the bulk of his half-hard dick, the way one of his hands will creep under the table with the pretense of scratching his leg but just runs it up the inside of Jaebum’s thigh instead. But it’s Jinyoung’s unlucky night because Jaebum is drunk and tired of keeping himself leashed to his fear, and his hands wander under the table and between Jinyoung’s legs where he teases like he’s going to touch him but just rubs circles into the insides of his thighs instead. Jaebum’s smug when he can see Jinyoung’s breathing change as he does it, the line of his back straightening to keep his composure. 

They tease each other in little ways for over half an hour. Jaebum’s head is almost spinning by the time Youngjae calls it quits, throwing his cards down on the table and announcing that he’s calling a cab. They’ve gone from avoiding Jaebum’s feelings entirely to Jinyoung maybe teasing him to Jaebum maybe teasing him back to Jinyoung definitely-maybe admitting talking about him too much to now, where Jinyoung is very obviously ready to throw both of their cautions from the window and get Jaebum to cave.

Which, at this stage in his drunkenness, isn’t going to be hard at all. 

While the other boys break into chatter as they arrange rides home and go to the bathroom, Jinyoung leans back against Jaebum’s chest and rests his head on his shoulder like he’s tired. But Jaebum knows better, can feel the way Jinyoung’s hand is resting loosely between his legs but his fingers are just barely brushing the seam of his jeans at his crotch. Keeping his eyes on the room, Jaebum just barely turns his head so that his mouth is at the curve of Jinyoung’s ear.

“You know I’ve been watching you watch me all night, right?” 

Jinyoung nods, feigning calm and disinterested. 

Under the table, Jaebum slides his hands over the swells of Jinyoung’s hips to grip his thighs where they meet the crotch of his jeans. Jinyoung inhales sharply but doesn’t look away from the ceiling, trying to stay nonchalant as Jaebum’s insecurities seem to drop and a bold desire takes their place. He goes to say something else when Jinyoung’s loud voice interrupts him,

“Hyung, I don’t feel like going home, do you have something I can sleep in?” 

The boys don't even react to this. Jinyoung and Jaebum have been sleeping at each other’s houses and sharing clothes since they were five, probably. Jaebum just leans away from his ear and nods, hands staying put and squeezing a little. Jinyoung makes a noise under his breath, squirming in Jaebum’s lap that sends heat pooling in his stomach. Jinyoung abandons his lap a few moments later, leaving Jaebum to hunch forward to both conceal his growing hard on and adjust his jeans so it's not noticeable when he stands up. 

As all the other boys slowly trickle from the apartment as their rides arrive, it's a wonder Jaebum doesn't just pin Jinyoung down and fuck him into the floor. Even with the other boys around, Jinyoung lets his hand linger at the small of Jaebum’s back, fingers sliding up under the hem of his hoodie to slide across his skin before pulling his hand away. His touch lingers at his shoulders, his hands, his hips; Jaebum notices Jinyoung staring at his mouth and licking his own. The walls feel like they're crumbling: a steady anxiety builds up in Jaebum’s chest, desire warring with reason as he slowly lets go of his common sense. The more Jinyoung makes it obvious that he wants him tonight, the self control he's been building for years and years breaks down until there's nothing but a silent sliver of it left. He leans against the counter in the kitchen with his arms crossed, watching Jinyoung shoo the last two boys from the apartment and closes the two of them up in silence. 

The music having long ended and the apartment now void of people except for them, the breath that Jinyoung lets out when he closes the door and leans on it is audible. Jaebum just looks at him, wondering absently how far they're going to get before someone resists and stops, or if, by some crazy working of the universe, they're going to go all the way. His heartbeat picks up a little at the prospect of it, but his face doesn't change. 

Jinyoung looks at him from where he's hovering by the front door and the heaviness of his eyes feels like a punch in the stomach. Uninhibited by all the people, Jinyoung makes his desire visible in every line of his body where he steps forward in Jaebum's direction. The lust is so strong he can practically smell it on him, and the last of his control shatters when Jinyoung is suddenly in front of him and crowding him against the counter. 

Jaebum’s breath comes unevenly as Jinyoung reaches out and plays with the zipper of his hoodie between his fingers, steady as a heartbeat. Jinyoung looks at it for a moment before he looks up at Jaebum from under his eyelashes, and the heady want in his eyes is enough to make his knees feel weak.

“Hyung,” he murmurs, voice as thick and sweet as honey. He tugs on the zipper, urging Jaebum forward. Jaebum sways forward like a puppet on strings, hands landing on Jinyoung’s hips and sliding up a little, enjoying the shaky inhale of breath from Jinyoung’s mouth. 

His heart pounds in his chest, body flashing hot and cold like he's got a fever. He slides his hands down Jinyoung’s lower back and pulls him forward until their bodies are touching, Jinyoung’s hands sliding up his chest until his arms are loosely wrapped around Jaebum’s neck. Swallowing roughly, Jaebum slides his hands down further, testing, and is rewarded when Jinyoung moans shakily as his hands slide over Jinyoung’s ass and squeeze. Jinyoung’s hips twitch forward, their crotches brushing together, and a hot burst of pleasure in his groin propels Jaebum forward with his face buried in Jinyoung’s neck as he gropes Jinyoung’s ass. 

“Hyung,” Jinyoung whines, hands finding his hair and tugging a little as Jaebum greedily touches his body, sliding up his shirt and feeling the muscle of his shoulders before dragging them back down to his ass and fuck, he's turned on, can feel how turned on Jinyoung is too; can hear it in his voice as he shakes slightly against Jaebum’s body and begs in his ear for a kiss. 

Face still buried between Jinyoung’s neck and shoulder, Jaebum carefully brushes his lips across Jinyoung’s neck. The younger boy whimpers, shoving hard at his chest until Jaebum is letting go of his ass and his back hits the counter again. Jinyoung closes the gap in a second, grabbing the front of his still half unzipped jacket and hauling him forward to crush their mouths together. 

The feeling explodes like a firecracker as Jinyoung moans into his already open mouth, his tongue sliding across Jaebum’s quick and dirty and inviting. Jaebum straightens, grabbing him and yanking him so that they're pressed together tight, feeling the kiss and frantically running his hands down Jinyoung’s sides to hold him place. Jinyoung’s a good kisser, but he's desperate, and he bites Jaebum’s lip painfully as he gets his hands between them to roughly unzip his jacket. Their tongues slide together as Jinyoung changes the angle, hands getting inside Jaebum’s jacket and onto his abs. He can't help it—he moans pathetically into Jinyoung’s mouth, squeezing his hips where he's holding them as Jinyoung explores the front of his body with his hands and sloppily kisses his mouth. 

“Hyung,” he says in between kisses, fingertips turning to nails as he rakes them down Jaebum’s stomach and sends pleasure spiking directly into his groin. “Hyung, I've been watching you all night, you're so fucking hot—”

They pant words into each other’s mouths, hands tearing at clothes in the kitchen. “I know,” Jaebum breathes back, reaching down to grope Jinyoung’s ass roughly and pull him closer. “It's been turning me on.” 

A moan shakily leaves Jinyoung’s mouth where it's moving across his jaw and to his neck, and Jaebum’s head spins with the first thought of how fucking crazy it is that they're making out right now. The last sliver of doubt he'd been holding onto melts away under the red hot touch of Jinyoung’s lips against his own. 

It's takes a lot of pushing and pulling before they get to Jaebum’s bedroom; they stop several times against the wall to kiss violently, all teeth and tongues where their mouths are already bruising and dark hickeys line their throats. Jinyoung practically kicks his door open when Jaebum shoves him against it, lips at his throat and teeth scraping the sensitive skin under his ear. Somewhere along the way Jaebum lost his hoodie and Jinyoung lost his shirt and sweater, their bodies sliding together with an agonizing sweetness that has Jaebum hiccuping a drunk moan when his hard nipple slides across Jinyoung’s. 

Before he knows it, Jinyoung is turning them and shoving Jaebum down onto his bed. Jaebum watches in pure disbelief as Jinyoung strips down to his boxer briefs before climbing over him. Jinyoung straddles his waist, and he has a momentary flashback to the day he'd shown up unannounced and done the same thing, and how Jaebum had tried so hard in that moment not to think of this exact scenario and touch him. But now it's happening, for real, and his drunk mind spins wildly as Jinyoung caresses his shirtless body and bites his swollen bottom lip. 

“You got so handsome, hyung,” he whines, fingers teasing where they dip under the waist of his jeans. Jaebum’s hips buck up, looking for friction as his hands slide up Jinyoung’s thighs. The younger boy sighs and spreads his legs a little, giving Jaebum a clear view of how much his dick is straining against the thin cotton of his grey briefs as his hands impatiently work at Jaebum’s belt buckle. 

Jaebum just throws his head back, unable to respond, eyes squeezed shut as Jinyoung makes a pleased noise when his belt comes loose and it's pulled through the loops fast and easy. Jinyoung just throws it to the floor, the metallic twang of it on the hardwood lost as his eyes burst open and a grunt escapes him when Jinyoung is roughly unbuttoning his jeans and yanking down his zipper. 

The reprieve of the pressure on his dick is heavenly, and he squeezes Jinyoung's bare thighs as he stares down at Jaebum’s dick through the opening of his jeans. It's hot, he can't deny that, the way Jinyoung admires his hard length where his jeans are spread open, and it only lasts a second more before Jinyoung is up on his knees to yank them down. Jaebum squeaks pathetically as Jinyoung gets them down past his ankles and off, so that they're both in their underwear when he settles back on Jaebum’s thighs. Sweat drips down Jinyoung’s neck, his hair already damp on his neck and temples, so gorgeous and sensual Jaebum can hardly stand it. 

All reasonable thought evacuates him as Jinyoung puts a firm hand on his stomach and start to rock his hips so that their cocks grind together, separated only by the thin cotton of their boxers. Jaebum almost screams, his hands fisting tight in the sheets. Jinyoung just closes his eyes, thick bottom lip shining in the low light from the gap in the curtains of Jaebum’s bedroom. The rest of the room is dark, the streetlights illuminating Jinyoung from the side and casting him in startlingly dramatic shadow. Despite the darkness, Jaebum can see still the look in his eyes when they come up to meet Jaebum’s again. 

“Hyung,” he says, and his deep, breathless voice seems to knock the wind right out of Jaebum’s chest. “Lube. Lube, do you have some?” 

He sounds like he's begging, and Jaebum feels his dick twitch under Jinyoung’s hand where he's started rubbing it over his boxers. An intelligible reply eludes him for a moment, sharp stabs of pleasure in his stomach as Jinyoung gently and slowly plays with his cock over his boxers. 

“Fuck, Jinyoung—” he groans, hands dipping under the waistband of Jinyoung's underwear at his back to grab his ass. Jaebum’s having trouble remembering what Jinyoung asked of him as his fingertips dig into the meat of Jinyoung’s ass, the younger shuddering a moan and rolling his hips down into Jaebum's palms where he's cupping the fullness of them. The strap rests across his wrists and he uses the angle to slide his hands down further and take the waistband with it until it snaps against the skin of his thighs underneath his ass. 

“Jaebum,” he moans, and fuck, hearing his name come out of Jinyoung’s mouth makes him feel like he's going to have a heart attack. The rushing sound of his blood pounds in his ears as Jinyoung leans over him, noisily rifling through the bedside table and almost falling twice. Both times he catches himself on the open drawer, laughing as he tightens his thighs around Jaebum’s hips to stop himself from toppling off the bed. Jaebum can’t stop touching him: even as Jinyoung leans back up with a tiny bottle of lube in one hand, Jaebum’s eyes are fixated on the wet spot at the front of Jinyoung’s briefs while his hands grip and grope every angle of his ass. 

Before he can even comprehend it, Jinyoung is leaning up to shove his boxers midway down his thighs. Jaebum’s breath snatches from his throat at the sight of it, Jinyoung propped up on his knees and his hard cock hanging heavy between his legs, ready to be touched. Jaebum groans and reaches for it, hips coming off the bed a little before Jinyoung slaps his hand away.

“Wait,” he pants, and only then does Jaebum notice that one of Jinyoung’s hands has disappeared between his legs. Wrist against his thigh and his hand firmly planted on Jaebum’s hip, Jaebum watches in awe as the muscle in Jinyoung’s forearm flexes and shines where lube is dripping down his wrist.

His breath catches, unsteady. “Jinyoung, are you––”

Jinyoung moans pathetically, the sound going straight to his dick and it takes everything in him not to flip them over to just slide into him and fuck him mercilessly. Jinyoung nods, hair plastered to his forehead and behind his ears with sweat that slides down his neck into his clavicles. A red blush, rosy and beautiful, paints the tops of his ears all the way down to his chest that heaves with every labored breath. Jaebum can’t do anything but watch in drunken, delirious wonder as the object of his life-long affections fingers himself open across his thighs. 

Jinyoung is lost in the pleasure, eyes squeezed shut and so beautiful it makes Jaebum’s chest hurt a little. “Jinyoungie,” he breathes, desperate for the younger boy to open his eyes and look at him. “Jinyoungie, you’re so beautiful––”

His eyes don’t open, but he can see the way they roll frantically under his closed eyelids. His bottom lip drops from where he’d been chewing on it, swollen and wet and cherry red. “Hyung, hyung––ah, fuck––I’m ready––” 

There’s a lurching feeling in his heart as Jinyoung pulls away from him, turning to kick his underwear from his ankles before straddling his hips again, fully naked. Jaebum can see the wetness between his thighs in the low light from outside, glistening and inviting on the skin of his legs. He makes a low noise in the back of his throat as Jinyoung just catches his eyes, the full-blown lust of his pupils swallowing up his irises until they’re black with desire. Heat flashes through him like a fever as Jinyoung licks his lip and curls his fingers in the waistband of his underwear. 

In one swift moment, Jinyoung yanks his underwear down to his knees and turns to push them down to his ankles, leaving Jaebum to kick them off himself as he turns back to wrap his fingers around Jaebum’s cock. His back arches off the bed into the touch, a noise like praying coming from his mouth where Jinyoung’s wet fingers slowly squeeze him from top to bottom. Jaebum’s chest tightens, his breath held in suspension as Jinyoung slicks him up until he’s tense and about to come before holding him still and then, with all the finesse of an expert, sinks down on him until he’s sitting flush in Jaebum’s lap. 

The feeling of Jinyoung slowly sitting down on his cock makes stars explode behind his eyes, and he opens them with a sharp inhale as Jinyoung places his hands on Jaebum’s neck and forces him to look down. His eyes are wide, wild in disbelief; Jinyoung’s long, lean body is taut and motionless as they both get used to the feeling of Jaebum’s cock all the way inside him. Jaebum’s hands shake where they come up to grab at Jinyoung’s wrists, meeting his eyes as Jinyoung smiles and rolls his hips once. Jaebum groans deep in his chest, fingers squeezing the bones of Jinyoung’s wrists together. Again. Heat like fire curls up in his gut, Jinyoung so warm and tight and slick from the lube that it’s easy as he starts to rock in Jaebum’s lap. The sensation is mind–blowing: somewhere in his brain he thinks he might be overreacting, but between the alcohol and Jinyoung’s grip on his jaw he thinks he’s never had sex this good.

“Jinyoung-ah,” he moans, pulling Jinyoung’s hands away from his jaw to run them down his chest. Jinyoung obliges, touching him, fingers dancing along the line of his abs and then up to playfully flick his nipples. His back bows, hands going to the dip at Jinyoung’s lower back and clawing at it. “Jinyoung-ah, what––”

“Shhh,” he murmurs, whimpering when Jaebum’s hands tighten on his ass and spreads it a little as Jinyoung starts to speed up his hips. “Just––oh god, hyung, it feels so  _ good––” _

“Keep going,” he moans, biting his lip as Jinyoung plants his hands on his stomach and rocks harder.  Jaebum knows he’s being loud, but he can’t stop the words that flow from his mouth with every slide of his cock inside Jinyoung. “Just keep going, like that, yeah––oh, my god––”

Incredibly, Jinyoung laughs breathlessly at him even as it dissolves into a moan. “Hyung, you’re talking so much.” 

“I know,” he says, and he slides a hand around to trail his fingertips feather light up the length of Jinyoung’s dick where it bounces against Jaebum’s stomach with each roll of his hips. Jinyoung chokes, twitching, hands tightening where they’re planted on Jaebum’s hips. “I know, fuck, I’m so drunk, Jinyoung, what are we doing?” 

“Having sex,” Jinyoung moans, so candidly it actually makes him laugh, and he keeps laughing even as Jinyoung moves his hands to Jaebum’s thighs to arch his back. “It’s what you wanted, isn’t it?” 

“God, yes, God, I’ve wanted you so bad,” he says, each word punctuated by a heaving breath, and Jinyoung watches him with dark, serious eyes as Jaebum trails his hands down his stomach. He plants one at Jinyoung’s hip and wraps the other around his dick, satisfied when Jinyoung shouts and throws his head back. 

“I’ve wanted you too, hyung––Jesus, oh, God––” Jinyoung can barely get a sentence out, his hips slamming down into Jaebum’s lap now, the sound of their skin slapping together the only noise in the room under their panting and moaning. His hips buck up into Jaebum’s hand where he’s jerking him off, squeezing gently at the base and relieving the pressure as he goes up. Jinyoung goes wild, thrashing on top of him and losing his momentum for a moment as he gets lost in the way Jaebum is touching his cock. “Hyung, I’ve always wanted you, just you––”

“Jinyoungie, I love you,” he breathes, before he can stop himself. But it doesn’t make it any less true being drunk and with Jinyoung riding his dick. If anything it’s more true, now, more so than it’s ever been, and he says it again with his heartbeat ringing in his ears and a sharp feeling coiling up in his crotch. “Jinyoung, I love you––”

His hand speeds up at the same time of Jinyoung’s hips, both of them losing their focus and buckling under the feeling. “I know, hyung, I know, I––” Jaebum squeezes hard and he cuts himself off with a shout, arms up and yanking at his hair as he nearly sobs with pleasure. “Hyung, keep going, do that again, right there, oh, fuck––hyung!” 

With no warning, Jinyoung is tensing up and coming over Jaebum’s fingers like a shot. His thin chest looks like it’s about to fold in half with how hard he’s breathing, Jaebum’s name leaving his mouth over and over at full volume as Jaebum works him through the aftershocks. Tears form at the corner of Jinyoung’s eyes as he holds Jaebum’s hips down, rocking his hips down so hard it makes him whimper. Watching Jinyoung watch him as they’re both a mess of come and lube and the determined set of Jinyoung’s eyebrows has his orgasm swelling between his legs. 

He grips Jinyoung’s thighs hard, smearing come across the tanned skin of them. Jinyoung doesn’t care, he just bites his lip and goes faster, until Jaebum is moaning  _ like that, like that, just like that, keep going like that  _ until his breath catches in his throat. His body goes tense, pleasure breaking over him like a wave and rushing down his legs until they feel numb. Starbursts explode behind his eyes, a million little galaxies all rushing to life and then dying out as Jinyoung’s hips slow and the orgasm fades.

The room is quiet under their harsh breathing, but Jinyoung is the first to laugh after a good five minutes of staring at each other. It’s beautiful and musical, and the feeling in his chest is light, for once, instead of that thousand-pound misery he’s felt every day for years. He slides his hands up Jinyoung’s thighs as he pulls off, watching in content as Jinyoung drops down next to him on his bed and doesn’t bother cleaning up. The low orange light of the street lamps illuminates his face from the front where he’s looking over at Jaebum now, a look in his eyes so sweet and tempered that his heart thumps against his ribcage. 

“Hyung,” he whispers, his eyelids fluttering with the first sign of drunk exhaustion he’s seen all night. Jaebum feels Jinyoung’s hand creep to his hip, turning himself on his side so that he’s curled against him with his head next to Jaebum’s on the pillow. His dark hair is wet, stuck to his neck and even in the washed out glow he looks perfect, like everything he’s ever wanted. “You said you love me.” 

“Yeah,” he says, though he barely remembers it. No longer having something to focus on, the room spins even as he lays down and watches as Jinyoung struggles to stay awake. The whole night hasn’t felt real; as soon as the party started he’d been trying to get drunk as possible. And he did, and somehow they ended up here, in his bed together and sharing the one intimate thing that Jaebum had been dreaming of for years but had never thought he’d see. And yet it was Jinyoung who pulled him in, begged breathlessly in his ear for a kiss and them pulled him desperately forward when he didn’t comply. And it all led them here, to Jinyoung curled tight around him like he’s afraid Jaebum will leave and fighting sleep to get the words out. 

“Did you mean it?” 

Drunk or sober, the answer is always the same. “Yes.” 

Jaebum smooths Jinyoung’s hair away from his forehead, silver rings flashing in the dimness. His pretty swollen lips split into a soft smile, eyes finally fluttering closed and staying shut even as he sighs happily. “Good. I mean it, too.”

“Mean what, Jinyoungie?” he says, laughing a little. He nudges Jinyoung’s shoulder softly. “You didn’t even say anything.”  
  
But Jinyoung is already asleep, an expression like content across his face. Jaebum follows soon after, one hand on Jinyoung’s hip and the other underneath his head with Jinyoung’s hand curled firmly over his heart. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> pls excuse if there are mistakes i went over it but i usually miss some sldkf;gkj love u <3


	6. vi. flux

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi all!!! 
> 
> sorry it took me so long to update :( but i had a ton of school projects to finish w the end of the semester and then just relaxed for a couple days. but now the semester is over and the update is here!!! ahhhhhh!!! 
> 
> as you can see, i changed the title of the entire fic–i know this might be weird, but trust me when i say that this title fits MUCH better than the original one (also i'm picky and hated the original title ahh) 
> 
> anyways i'm sorry in advance.......here's the update !

The watery sunlight of an early, dreary morning bleeds through the gap in Jaebum’s curtains to spill across his closed eyes. He'd never been a heavy drinker and a good sleeper at the same time, so even the weak light is enough to make him squeeze his eyes shut tighter against it.

He hasn't been asleep long; maybe five or six hours or so, and a nasty hangover lingers around the edges of his brain as he slowly drags his way back to consciousness. A soft, pleased noise escapes his mouth when he feels a wet warmth underneath his right nipple, and he blindly lifts a hand to the familiar feel of Jinyoung’s silky strands. Jinyoung hums quietly, trailing softer and wetter kisses down his stomach; he's still a little drunk, perhaps, gripping Jinyoung’s hair a little tighter as the younger boy licks and sucks at the bone of his hip. Jaebum’s breathing changes, quickening slightly, eyes still squeezed shut and everything in his head rolling around like loose marbles as Jinyoung kisses down lower and lower.

When he feels Jinyoung’s mouth near the base of his quickly hardening cock, the sun breaks over the mountains and shines warmly across his closed eyes. The sudden golden imprint across his eyelids wakes him up: the events of the night come screeching together like a car accident, in some semblance of order. The insane amount of drinking, flashes of him dancing on the table and taking off his shirt, sexual tension, Jinyoung kissing him in the kitchen, the long journey to the bedroom. Memories of Jinyoung on top of him and rocking his hips half-lit by that shadowy orange glow flood him; his body tenses up like he'd been doused in ice water. Horror, guilt, elation, confusion—a hundred emotions all slam through him at once, pounding against his temples with the headache that forms quickly when his eyes snap open.

“Stop,” he breathes, gripping Jinyoung’s hair hard to pull his face away from his lap. Jinyoung looks up petulantly, tongue poking out of his mouth where he'd been about to lick his way up Jaebum’s cock. Guilty it twitches at the thought, and Jinyoung grins easily.

But Jaebum doesn't feel like smiling. In fact, his chest constricts painfully, as though someone had dropped a thousand pound stone right on top of him and left him to die. He pulls Jinyoung’s head away, moving his leg and standing up quickly off the bed to turn toward his dresser. Jinyoung sighs forlornly. His old bed creaks as Jinyoung turns over, but Jaebum is too afraid to look.

Instead he goes to his dresser to pull on a clean pair of underwear. Jaebum swallows hard and tries to ignore how much his hands shake. He's already mostly lost his erection by the time he pulls them up over his hips, and the breath he takes in quivers madly.

“Hyung?” Jinyoung murmurs from behind him. Jaebum’s eyes close in pain when he realizes that he can envision Jinyoung’s look of quiet concern just from that one syllable, that one exhaled word that carries all of Jinyoung’s concern inside it. They squeeze shut, the warm feeling from when he'd first woken up to Jinyoung’s mouth on his chest gone as ice water replaces all the blood in his veins.

Jaebum grips the edge of his dresser as the room tilts a little bit. He feels like he's going to be sick. He remembers, only slightly dimly, the way Jinyoung had felt inside; how good and how tight, how responsive and vocal he was to Jaebum’s mere touch. His lungs grow smaller, choking him, as the gravity of what happened swings down on him  like an axe on a pendulum. He feels it when it strikes his sternum, threatening to split him in half with the pain.

_Jinyoung got what he wanted._ And Jaebum had gotten what he wanted, too, of course. But the meanings are different—miles away from each other in their deeper intentions; two definitions in two different languages. Jaebum’s had been all affection, born out of a desire to hold him close, to cherish him, to love him with his body and not just his mind. But Jinyoung’s was carnal, a way to satiate the thirst until it came back again. And, growing up as Jinyoung’s closest friend, he knew it would come again. It always does, and Jinyoung always finds a way to quench it the way a shark detects a single drop of blood in the water.

Jaebum’s heart lurches painfully when he realizes he'd just become another of Jinyoung’s casualties. _Another notch in the bedpost._ His fingertips turn white with the rage that simmers low in his chest that he could be so stupid. Now that he’s given in, Jinyoung will expect nothing less. Years of resistance lead to a final swollen desire that burst like hot rain in a desert drought. And now Jinyoung will come to him, looking for pleasure, because he knows Jaebum will give it. But he'll also go somewhere else, to someone else, and to someone else, and someone else still. Jinyoung got what he wanted from Jaebum and will continue to get it because Jaebum is weak and in love.

Hot, unshed tears burn the back of his throat, angry with himself over his crushing naïveté. Jinyoung’s voice comes to him again, softer this time, more enticing where he looks up in the mirror and sees Jinyoung looking at him already.

He's propped up on one arm; long, bare legs spread out before him and only barely covered with a sheet. His dick is hard, that much Jaebum can see, and the earlier concern has melted into a honey desire that Jinyoung drips down his back with those dark eyes of his.

“Come back to bed, hyung,” he nearly purrs, and Jesus, Jaebum wants to die. His heart catches in this throat like a fish hook.

“No,” he says, voice watery and weak. Jinyoung’s face changes in the mirror but Jaebum doesn't look up from his hands.

“What?”

“I said no, Jinyoung—”

His voice goes from honey sweet to petulant. “Come on, hyung, let's go again sober.”

Damn him for trying. Jaebum spins on his heel, crossing his arms as he's unsure what else to do with them. His chest only buckles as he says, breathless and rushed, “we shouldn’t have done it.”

His heart cracks almost audibly at the hurt that slashes across Jinyoung’s face like a knife blade. “ _What?”_

Jaebum swallows roughly, still avoiding his eyes even as the anger and the frustration and the misery mounts. He knows what's coming but Jinyoung doesn't, and that makes it more awful when Jinyoung lays down on his back and spreads those gorgeous legs wider, runs a large hand down his chest and stomach and preening for him. Jaebum bites his lip but doesn't look down, finding his eyes now and holding them as he says it again.

“We shouldn’t have done that.”

Jinyoung’s act drops immediately when he realizes that Jaebum is serious and not falling for it. He sits up quickly, propped up on his hands and the sheet pooling across his waist. The confusion on his face is genuine, which makes it worse somehow. “What do you mean?”

“We shouldn’t have fucked. It was a bad idea.”

The look on Jinyoung’s face is pure, undiluted bewilderment. “But hyung, you loved it.”

Shame rushes the blood up to his face, staining it red and he looks away toward the floor. “Of course I loved it, Jinyoung, it’s sex and it felt good.”

Something about this dismissal strikes a nerve, apparently, because Jinyoung tenses immediately. Even from the corner of his eye Jaebum can see the way his shoulders straighten and his hands curl to fists in the sheets. He wonders what exactly will happen now––it’s a side effect of knowing someone for so long that their actions are almost predictable. But with the uncertain nature of every single thing that’s been happening to them lately, nothing happens the way he thinks it will. He hopes that his attempt at dismissing his own feelings about what happened will throw Jinyoung off, but it’s clear by the tension that curls in the room like a snake that it’s not quite happening that way.

Jinyoung’s voice, when he finally speaks in the absence of Jaebum’s follow up, is bitter cold. “You finally looked happy for once.”

His stomach contracts like he’d been punched. He looks up in shock to see Jinyoung’s face reddening with the first blush he gets when he’s about to say something ugly. _“What?”_

The redness of his face doesn’t change; only darkens to one of rage and maybe something like shame. His perfectly straight teeth look dangerous where they’re gritted together, the next words slipping out like poison. “You finally looked happy for once, while I was riding you.”

Jaebum’s heart thunders in his ears, and his arms drop to his sides to clench into fists. “Jinyoung–”

His plea is ignored. Jinyoung continues, still like a statue on his bed but dangerously tense. “You were so happy. You couldn’t stop laughing, and smiling, and you were so chatty, talking to me while I was riding you. Your hands were everywhere like you couldn’t stop touching me, like you didn’t want to stop touching me–”

“I–”

“It felt amazing, _you_ felt amazing. You looked so happy, Jaebum. I haven’t seen you that happy in years.”

The room falls silent after his tirade and the hot tears in his throat burn more, sting his eyes and threaten to fall but he swallows hard and blinks them back. He tries to strengthen his voice, make it nonchalant and lazy. “Well, we were drunk. And it was fun, sure. But we’re not doing it again.”

Jinyoung’s face drops and he looks gutted. He actually looks _hurt,_ like Jaebum telling him that they’re never going to have sex again is painful for him. It makes him kind of angry, and it’s hard to pin down the emotion in Jinyoung’s voice. “Hyung–”

“Don’t. Just don’t, okay? It was a mistake.”

“A _mistake?”_ Jinyoung’s voice rises an entire octave and cracks pathetically. Fresh guilt floods him, his heart slowing and anxiety crowding his chest, but maybe it’s better this way. Maybe it’s better to make Jinyoung angry enough to not want to call him up to fuck.

“Yes.”

Jinyoung stares at him like he’s waiting for Jaebum to add something else. He doesn’t. He crosses his arms back over his chest and holds his eyes, aware that his face is probably red and his eyes are a little wet and that he’s a horrible actor but he doesn’t say anything else, and he doesn’t take it back. When Jinyoung realizes this, he makes an awful noise of disgust in this throat that hits Jaebum in the stomach like a fist.

Jaebum just watches him as he throws off the sheet, twisting to get off the bed and bending down to rifle through what clothes are on the floor of the bedroom to find his own. He finds his underwear and yanks them on, voice shaking with underlying rage. “That was a mistake to you, Jaebum? Fucking me? Touching me? Telling me you loved me while you did?”

_“Hyung, I’ve always wanted you, just you––”_

_“Jinyoungie, I love you,” he breathes, before he can stop himself. But it doesn’t make it any less true being drunk and with Jinyoung riding his dick. If anything it’s more true, now, more so than it’s ever been, and he says it again with his heartbeat ringing in his ears and a sharp feeling coiling up in his crotch. “Jinyoung, I love you––”_

Jaebum cringes away from the memory and the anger radiating off Jinyoung in waves. “I didn’t mean to say that. And I shouldn’t have.”

Jinyoung finishes pulling his jeans up over his hips before he stops, looking at where Jaebum is still leaned against his dresser with his arms pulled tight into his body like it will make him smaller. Jaebum is looking out the window beside him, too afraid of what might happen if he looks directly into Jinyoung’s eyes. But, like always, Jinyoung knows just where to strike him where it hurts the most.

“Why do you hate yourself so much?”

The words, spoken so crisply and honestly, strike him dumb. His eyes find Jinyoung’s, two burning orbs in the morning light cutting into the room through the curtains now. Jaebum lets his arms drop to his sides restlessly. “What?”

“Why do you hate yourself so much that you won’t let yourself be happy? That you won’t let yourself enjoy things? Huh?”

Incredibly, Jinyoung’s eyes are tearing up. Guilt swarms in his gut even as he knows the next words to leave his mouth are going to hurt. “I do enjoy things, Jinyoung. Just not having sex with you.”

At a loss because his shirt is discarded somewhere in the hallway, Jinyoung just barks an awful, humorless laugh. “That’s not what you were saying when you came inside me last night.”

They’ve always been good at this, wounding each other. They know each other’s weak spots, what hurts, how long and how hard to push their thumbs down into a weak spot before something snaps. The two of them have always been the best of friends but they’ve always been even better at hurting each other.

Jaebum just flinches. “Maybe try calling Hyunwoo again–”

And finally, Jinyoung explodes. Jaebum can see the red flush of his anger down his chest where he’s still shirtless, bare arms raising up and fingers yanking on his own disheveled hair in frustration. He drops them angrily when he starts to shout.

“Fuck Hyunwoo! Fuck that! Fuck everyone else! And you know what?” his eyes are watery now, rapidly blinking like he’s trying to push them back but his voice wavers and cracks as the hot, angry tears drip down his face with every shouted word. Jaebum twitches forward like he wants to comfort him, but he thinks that somewhere a line had been crossed and he’s not sure they’ll ever come back from it. “You know what, Jaebum? Fuck you, too. Why do you hate yourself so much that you make it seem like you hate me, too?”

Agony rips across his stomach, as though Jinyoung’s holding a knife and just sawing into him with it. Jinyoung can’t think that, not after all the years of their friendship, not after the last couple of weeks of their will-they, won’t-they. He can’t think that Jaebum hates him but the tears on his face and the stiff set of his shoulders tell Jaebum that it’s exactly what he thinks.

“Jinyoungie,” he says desperately, wanting to take it all back; the situation he thought he’d had a handle on already spiraled so out of control. “Jinyoungie, I could never hate you–”

“Because you love me, right?” he spits, and it stings like venom. Jinyoung is suddenly taking a few long strides toward the open doorway of Jaebum’s bedroom, pausing to pick up his discarded shirt and pull it on. He turns then, only halfway, something like resignation on his face that cracks Jaebum’s facade like weight on thin ice. Jinyoung angrily wipes tears from his eyes before he says, “if you loved me, Im Jaebum, you’d be a better friend.”

The front door slams a few moments later, and the silence that follows is deafening.

  


_

 

  
Despite the adrenaline, Jaebum crawls miserably back into bed after standing at his dresser for another 15 minutes staring at the place Jinyoung had just been. He stares at the wall by the bathroom door, aware of but unwilling to acknowledge the way his pillowcase grows increasingly more damp from the tears that leak from his eyes. The sound of Jinyoung’s hurt and the slamming of the front door reverberate in his head like a bad echo. The hangover makes his stomach lurch and his head throb with pressure behind his wet eyes. Or maybe it’s the heartache.

When he finally falls into a fitful sleep two hours later, he really isn’t sure.

  


_

  


He doesn’t wake up until late Saturday night.

When he rolls over and miserably blinks awake, he looks at the clock and is distantly shocked that he’d managed to sleep for nearly ten hours; it’s 7 in the evening already. The quickly approaching winter has the sun already nestled behind the horizon and the room is lit by that same sickly orange glow of the streetlamp that just reminds him now of Jinyoung.

Sighing, he flips onto his back and rubs his eyes for over a minute. His eyelashes feel sore from the dried tears, and he buries the heels of his hands into his eyes to erase it. The memories linger like shadows; even as he tries to forget them, splintered images of Jinyoung’s face when he came and his hands on Jinyoung’s bare thighs and Jinyoung’s face covered in tears parade across his eyelids. Misery, real and deep, chains him to his bed and he doesn’t get up.

A flashing light on the ceiling alerts him that he has missed messages on his phone. He blindly reaches over, the bright screen making him squint as he unlocks it and scrolls through the notifications. Most are just SNS, a couple of texts from Jackson in different states of bewilderment, then concern, then anger.

**From: Jackson 10:26 am  
** _What the hell happened?_

**From: Jackson 10:34 am  
** _Jaebum, what are you doing? Where are you?  
_ _What happened?_

**From: Jackson 11:55 am  
** _Are you ok? Jinyoung just went home and he was a mess, are you ok? I’m getting worried_

**From: Jackson 1:09 pm  
** _You’re being a real fucking asshole right now, JB_

He feels bad, but he just sighs and swipes the notifications away and decides that he’ll call Jackson later, after he’s had a shower and can maybe think a little more clearly. Jaebum’s about to put his phone down and get up when a text comes in at the top.

**From: Jinyoungie 7:13 pm**  
_I’m coming over._

His heart stops. He frantically begins typing back that it’s not a good idea and that Jaebum really doesn’t want to see him right now, but before he can finish, Jinyoung sends another.

_Actually, I’m already here. Get up and open the door._

Jaebum is out of bed in a flash, pulling on jeans he finds on the floor. He flips on a few lights as he makes his way through the apartment, illuminating everything and trying to dispel a little of the gloom. The apartment, thankfully, isn’t a huge mess: people had been respectful enough to clean up after themselves, and the only real mess is the empty cups and bottles and playing cards crammed on the tiny card table.

Jaebum pauses with a hand on the doorknob, unsure if he should actually turn it, but he hears Jinyoung sigh tiredly on the other side.

“Just open the door, hyung,” he says, voice muffled by the wood but no less exhausted sounding.

Swallowing, he opens the door and Jinyoung is immediately shoving past him to get inside. Jaebum steps back, too weary and hungover to win a fist fight, so he just lets it go and closes the door. He watches Jinyoung hunt through the living room, disappearing a few steps into the hallway before coming back out and pulling on the jacket he’d left this morning. Jinyoung looks up at him when he does; Jaebum feels a spark of jealousy at how good of an actor Jinyoung has always been. His face is wiped clean of an expression, the only giveaway in the tension lines near the corners of his eyes and in the straight set of his shoulders.

“What have you been doing all day? Jackson was worried about you.”

“I was asleep.”

“All day?”

Jaebum resists the urge to roll his eyes. “Yes, Jinyoung. I was asleep. I woke up barely a few minutes before you showed up.”

Jinyoung just makes a noise, shoving his hands into the pockets of his jeans. Different ones from this morning, he notices, and upon noticing everything else his gut burns when he notices the dark, bruising hickies on Jinyoung’s neck. He looks away.

“So,” Jinyoung says, finally breaking the couple moments of tense, uncomfortable silence. “Are you going to say sorry?”

He looks up at him. “Uh, what?”

There’s still no hint of what Jinyoung might be feeling, but Jaebum thinks he knows better. Jinyoung is still angry with him, but he’s scared, too. “Are you going to apologize?”

“Are _you?”_

“What do _I_ have to apologize for?” he shoots back, hands clenching to fists in his pockets.

“You said some pretty awful things, too, Jinyoung.”

“Not as awful as us being together like that was a mistake.”

This time, Jaebum really does roll his eyes. He rubs the left one tiredly, aware that he’s still shirtless and hasn’t showered or eaten or forgiven himself _or_ Jinyoung; the last thing he wants to do is fight but he knows they’re going to anyway. “Whatever.”

“Just–” and finally an emotion shows through; his voice kind of wavers at the end but he clears his throat to get rid of it. “I just want to know why.”

“Why what?”

“Why you think it was a mistake.”

_Why wouldn’t it be a mistake?_ He thinks to himself, bitterly and selfishly. Jaebum has a whole rehearsed list of reasons that this was a mistake, or that further sex would be a mistake, but based on the events of the last couple of weeks that exploded in the last 24 hours he thinks that his response is reason enough.

“Because you can’t use me that way.”

Jinyoung’s mouth drops open. “You think I was _using_ you?”

“You don’t feel the same way about me, but you’ve been trying to get in my pants for the past couple of weeks any time we were in a fight or about to have one, like you think that’ll somehow make me forget about it. You don’t want a relationship, but you want the sex. Isn’t that the definition of using me?”

“Are you listening to yourself? Do you not understand that we had sex because _you_ wanted it, too? You don’t want a relationship either, based on what you said to me this morning. Doesn’t that mean _you_ used _me?”_

“That’s not what I meant and you know it–”

“But that’s what you said!” he shouts, taking his hands out of his pockets to run one through his hair, lowering his voice. “Why are you so stubborn? Why don’t you listen?”

“There’s nothing to listen to, Jinyoung, I know how you feel–”

Jaebum recoils a little when Jinyoung laughs at him. “No you don’t! You don’t know anything because you’re too stupid and too blind to ask!”

Hurt and confusion crawl up his throat, tightening it dangerously. “Just go, Jinyoung. You got what you came for.”

He chuckles, but it’s devoid of humor and warmth. “You think I just came for my jacket?”

Jaebum shakes his head. “Seems like you came for a fight, too.”

“I came for an apology.”

Their eyes meet. Jaebum can’t see his own face but he’s sure that it reflects Jinyoung’s; sad and quickly losing the anger that he’d come with as it fades into resignation.

“You won’t get one,” he murmurs, voice soft, almost an apology in itself.

The space between them falls quiet again. Their eyes hold, eye contact intense and deep, a whole conversation transpiring in it but in two different languages. Finally, Jinyoung tiredly closes his eyes and sighs.

“So that’s it, then?”

“What?”

“24 years of friendship. Gone, just because of this? Because you won’t listen?”

Jaebum shakes his head again, trying to ignore the sting in his eyes. “I don’t want to stop being friends, Jinyoung. I just–”

“Won’t apologize. No, I get it,” he says, and steps forward toward the door.

Jaebum’s gripping the doorknob where he’d been gearing up to tell Jinyoung to get out. They’re close together now, only a couple of inches away where Jinyoung’s looking at him where he’s looking at Jinyoung’s jaw. The warmth that flows reminds him of a day nearly ten years ago, hands on each other’s hips and turned toward each other on the bed, kissing shyly with their mothers just down the hall. It reminds him of stolen touches, hands on chests or thighs or throats; of Jinyoung’s mouth where it covered his own. It reminds him of summer days spent in the pool, glittering aquamarine so clear he could always see the tan of Jinyoung’s skin no matter how deep he dove underneath it; the sun on his back as he watched him from the diving board and felt that little flutter in his heart that meant something he couldn’t quite understand. It reminds him of Jinyoung, just Jinyoung; the heat of his body where they’ve been pressed together for 24 years in all ways, by their hips and their hearts and their tongues.

A slowly rising feeling of terror grips him tight in an icy fist as he begins to sense what’s coming.

The end.

Jinyoung just sighs quietly, forlornly, as he covers Jaebum’s hand on the doorknob. “I get it. We may fight a lot, Jaebum,” he says, twisting over Jaebum’s hand to open the door. “But friends don’t not apologize when they’re wrong. Friends don’t lie to each other like this, and I’ve let you lie to me for way too long.”  
  
Jinyoung steps out of the apartment, taking all the warmth with him when he goes.

 

 


	7. vii. wishbone

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [bill nye voice] angst! angst! angst! 
> 
> anyway, here's the update!!! the second part is a dream,,, i know those can be boring so i'm sorry if u don't like them ahhhHHH i added it in the tags also TToTT
> 
> i'll be quiet now...enjoy~

The silence that follows is a paradox of rushing noise in his ears as the emptiness expands like a balloon inside his chest. He stares at the door for a while, almost unblinking, feeling the way a dangerous emotion spreads like a disease from the center of him. Every sluggish heartbeat is the twist of a knife, every blink a closed door, every inhaled breath another broken heart. Jaebum stands and lets his eyes linger on the dark wood of the door as the ghost of Jinyoung’s exit haunts the backs of his eyes. Jinyoung’s last words and the forlorn sound they’d made repeat in his ears like the constant leap and skip of a needle on a broken record.

_ Friends don’t not apologize to each other when they’re wrong. Friends don’t lie to each other like this, and I’ve let you lie to me for far too long.  _

The emotion swells to bursting, and it ruptures like split stitches when he sends a fist into the picture frame hanging innocuously by the door. Glass crunches like broken teeth under his fingers as blood splatters the floor in fat red drops, a violent Jackson Pollock on the white linoleum. His eyesight blurs with vicious, burning tears as he swallows back the noise of pain and brings his injured hand to his chest. But the storm still rages, a current dragging him under over and over as he stumbles into his room. The door hits the wall with a dull  _ thud _ , and the subsequent shoving of his small bookcase sends volumes crashing to the floor with a horrible clatter. Swallowed up by the agony, his foot swings before he can stop himself and scatters the books unlucky enough to be in his way further across the floor. The sight of his most prized possessions lying broken and bent on the floor drops him to his knees. 

On the floor in front of him is a thin book, no bigger than a planner. It had landed face down, the spine in the air and making a tent of folded pages from the wrath he’d imposed on the bookcase. Without even looking at the cover he knows what it is: it’s a book of American poetry that Jinyoung had given to him as a graduation gift in high school. Jaebum ignores the hot tears that well up and slip down in quiet grief as he picks up the broken book and flips it over. 

Most of the pages are bent from the fall, but Jaebum can still see the pages that had been dog-eared by his own curious fingers. Blood cakes the knuckles of his left hand, slipping between his fingers and staining the crisp white pages of the book as he tries to flatten the pages. Such is a representation for his friendship with Jinyoung: no matter how hard he tries, the pages will not go back to the way they were; it is a tattered thing, broken now by his own doing. No matter how flat he manages to makes the pages, the creases will still be there.

The only sounds in the room are Jaebum’s quiet gasps for air as despair grips his ankles and drags his head underwater. His vision swims and, propelled forward by his own desperate need to find another connection to Jinyoung, some proof that they can survive this, he holds the book in his bloodied hand and flips to the front page.

Inscribed on the inside cover are simple, frequent words in Jinyoung’s neat and cramped script: 

> _To my hyung,_ _  
> __I love you._
> 
> _ Jinyoungie  _

Something about the facile words sends a fissure cracking up his ribcage. The tears come so fast and hot it hurts to breathe. The thin paper stings his fingertips as he carelessly turns the pages, searching for something else, anything, another piece of proof that Jinyoung had cared for him. Desperation swelters in his head like summer heat until he finally finds that single, highlighted passage toward the back of the book.

He holds the book open and stares, ever in awe that he could have forgotten about something like this. Jaebum had never been one for poetry, much preferring fiction, but Jinyoung always has been. Scraps of paper lined with poetry he’d written or printed from the library or torn secretly from books littered his pockets. Jaebum would find jagged pieces of paper with countless words in the farthest nooks of his car, in his room, in his bed after Jinyoung had spent the night. Verse after verse of prose that Jinyoung carried around with him like armor found its way into Jaebum’s world, and he remembers how anxious Jinyoung had been to give him a book of poetry. But, despite his lack of affection for poetry itself, his affection for  _ Jinyoung  _ had him clutching the book tightly and drinking every word with his eyes until they were heavy and tired. And he remembers, on that night, being confused at the single highlighted passage that he holds down with a bloodied hand against the floor: 

> _ If you love me, Henry, you love me in a way I don’t understand.  _

It had never made sense, then, why Jinyoung had highlighted it. He had always just assumed that Jinyoung had liked it, much in the way he never understood why Jinyoung had lines of poetry printed on small pieces of paper he kept folded up in his pockets. But now, looking at the faded yellow highlight over the stark black words printed on the page, a muddied understanding leaks through the cracks of his distress and irritates it like salt in a wound. His bloodied hand picks up the book and slaps it shut, the resounding  _ smack  _ like a hand to a cheek, and then he throws it as hard as he can against the far wall. It crushes itself against the concrete, fluttering hopelessly to the empty side of his bed and then making only a final, whispering sigh as it slides to the ground and out of sight. 

His face and neck are wet with tears, the collar of his shirt darker than the rest of the fabric with bitter salt. Jaebum stands on the knees of a newborn foal, shaking and knocking while the nerves in his split knuckles burn and throb. The blood has dried on his hands and wrists; stained the floor where he’d fallen and soaked into the front of his shirt. It seems an impossible task with the weight of the grief that holds him down like river stones but he stands, and takes a deep breath.

He goes back to bed. He doesn’t know what else to do.

  
  


*

 

Dreams are funny things. 

_ He knows he’s dreaming because he’s fifteen again and standing comfortably in Jinyoung’s bedroom. Jinyoung is somewhere down the hallway talking to his mother, but in this dream he can’t picture it; he can only picture the immediate room. The walls are fuzzy, blurry like wet water colors; the posters and highlighted pages of books tacked up to his walls are in the places he knows them to be but indistinguishable in the rough sketch of a dream. But he remembers this well, this betrayal of his subconscious giving him the one thing he needed the least when he sought the solace of sleep. _

_ He watches himself turn around at the quiet whisper of the door opening. Jinyoung steps in, shaggy haired and awfully skinny. He’s fifteen again, too, in this remembering dream. Fourteen, technically, if he remembers correctly; this specific memory in late summer with the way Jinyoung is dressed in khaki shorts and a short sleeved shirt. Dark hair falls over his thick eyebrows, a smile splitting his still chubby face. Between watching himself and reliving this memory he can feel at a distance the troubled beating of his anxious, teenage heart.  _

_ “Hyung?” Jinyoung asks, his voice still high with his young age, but his dark eyes are deep and serious. “What’s wrong?”  _

_ “Nothing,” he says, this half memory, half dream playing out like a film for him. Jinyoung raises an eyebrow, lifting his hand to push his bangs away from his face. “Are you sure? You look nervous.”  _

_ Dream-Jaebum laughs, his voice not much deeper than Jinyoung’s yet, but rough around the edges and getting there. “Why would I be nervous, Jinyoung-ah?”  _

_ The younger boy lifts and drops a shoulder in nonchalant disinterest. “I dunno. Anyway, our moms are going to be awhile. What do you want to do?”  _

_ He watches himself put a finger to his chin to think. The disparity of dreams is that he can also watch Jinyoung watching  _ him; _ though he thinks this is the dream giving him what he wants. Jinyoung watches him closely, hands shoved in his pockets, eyes trained on Jaebum’s fingertip just under the swell of his bottom lip. Jaebum could swear he can see a pulse beating in Jinyoung’s throat when he swallows. _

_ “Do you want to watch a movie?” Jinyoung asks him, and the hazy, colored-pencil edges of the dream start to darken just a fraction when Dream-Jaebum turns his head. Jinyoung’s voice is different, sounds different; he remembers so clearly even in the murkiness of dreams the way that Jinyoung’s voice had dropped and turned to silk. Neither of them had experimented much sexually; they’d both dated girls in their class but decided it was too much work and went back to playing video games. The way that Jaebum feels his stomach drop in the dream is identical to the feeling he’d gotten the first time around.  _

_ “In here?”  _

_ “Yeah,” Jinyoung says, nodding at the television on the small bookcase across from his bed. “Why not?”  _

_ “Okay,” Jaebum agrees, and crosses his arms. Suddenly the air had become more awkward, blunt edged and stifling. Jinyoung bends down to pick a movie–Jaebum looks over to make a suggestion but stops when he sees the round curve of Jinyoung’s ass in his shorts. A sudden mental picture flashes in front of his eyes, one of his own hands, pulling them down and not in the joking way he’s done a hundred times before. Shame courses hot through his body; he sits down on Jinyoung’s bed and looks away.  _

_ “Here we go,” Jinyoung says, finding a movie and putting it on. Jaebum swallows and looks away from where Jinyoung crawls up on the bed to sit next to him. Jinyoung settles in with a sigh, throwing a leg carelessly over Jaebum’s and leaning his weight on one shoulder. Their backs rest against Jinyoung’s headboard, and Jaebum tries to focus on the feeling of the edge digging uncomfortably into the back of his neck instead of the way Jinyoung’s warmth stains his skin like a sunburn.  _

_ Neither of them speak through a majority of the film, but throughout it Jinyoung relaxes even more into Jaebum’s touch. Somehow Jaebum’s arm ends up around Jinyoung’s shoulders, with Jinyoung’s head on his collarbone and an arm wrapped protectively around his adolescent-thin waist. Somewhere halfway through the movie Jinyoung had started to fidget, and it only gets worse as the movie winds down in the last third.  _

_ Jaebum taps Jinyoung’s head impatiently. “Yah, Jinyoung-ah. Sit still, would you?”  _

_ “Sorry.”  _

_ His voice sounds...strange. Jaebum shakes him a little. “Are you alright?”  _

_ “Hyung…” Jinyoung sighs and sits up, leaning on one hand and moving the other one away from Jaebum’s waist. He cards that one impatiently through his hair, and Jaebum is struck by the way he wants to knock Jinyoung’s hand away to do it himself. But he doesn’t; he folds his hands tight in his lap and waits for Jinyoung to finish his thought.  _

_ “Hyung…can I ask you something?”  _

_ That same anxious staccato thrums in his chest again. “Sure, Jinyoungie.” _

_ “Have you ever…” Jinyoung’s face falls, a bright red flushing up his neck and to the tops of his ears. He looks down, unable to hold Jaebum’s eyes any longer. His voice, when he continues, is quiet and colored darkly with shame: _

_ “Have you ever thought about kissing a boy?”  _

In the waking world, Jaebum’s face scrunches up in pain while he sleeps. He rolls over restlessly as the dream continues.

_ Jaebum’s eyes widen, his breath caught in his throat and hands tightening in his lap. Jinyoung doesn’t look up, but he’d heard the way Jaebum had swallowed the gasp, and his own hands tighten where he’s holding onto the sheets of his bed like it’s the only thing holding him down.  _

_ “Forget it–” _

_ “Jinyoung-ah. Have  _ you  _ thought about kissing a boy?”  _

_ He looks up for only a second, their eyes meeting for the heartbeat of a spark to pass through them before he hastily casts his eyes down again. “Obviously, stupid, that’s why I’m asking.”  _

_ “I…” Jaebum isn’t sure how to answer. Of course he’s thought about kissing boys is what he wants to say, but he’d be a liar. He’d only thought about kissing one boy, and it’s the one who currently won’t even look at him because he’s ashamed. “Yeah, I have,” he finishes lamely.  _

_ Jinyoung looks up, and though the flush is still bright as it’s ever been, most of the shame drops from his face. “Hyung, really? You have? It’s not just me?”  _

_ “No…” Jaebum swallows. He’s trying hard to be a good friend, but he doesn’t know how to handle this feeling either. “Um, why?”  _

_ “I just,” he sighs forlornly and moves a hand to Jaebum’s hip, where he starts to draw circles on his shirt with his finger, “I’ve been thinking about it lately. Sometimes I dream about it, and I wake up–” he laughs awkwardly. “You know.”  _

_ Jaebum knows a thing or two about wet dreams but he’d die before he’d ever admit it to Jinyoung. “Yeah, I know.”  _

_ The relief is palpable when Jinyoung’s shoulders sag. “Do you think you’ll ever do it?”  _

_ “What, kiss a boy?”  _

_ “Yeah.” _

_ Jaebum coughs awkwardly, trying to fight back all the dreams he’s had where he sticks his tongue in Jinyoung’s mouth and breathes in the whimper that follows it. “Well, I don’t know–” _

_ “Do you want to try it with me, hyung?”  _

_ A silence descends between them, pregnant with tension as Jinyoung finally looks up and into his eyes when he asks. Jaebum feels the tremor begin in his hands when he lifts them to pull his shirt down just to give them something to do. He looks down, eyes trained on his bare knees through the rips in the denim of his pants while Jinyoung’s gaze burns a hole in the side of his head. He tries to think of a response but all of them die before they can make it past his teeth.  _

_ “I trust you, hyung,” Jinyoung says, and then he’s scooting up the bed to sit next to him again. Jaebum feels Jinyoung’s shoulder on his and their hips together as he settles. “If I’m going to try kissing a boy, I want it to be you.”  _

_ “Why?” Jaebum inquires, trying to sound disinterested, but his voice cracks and he closes his eyes. _

_ Jinyoung’s voice is low and honey sweet, a foreshadowing where he feels his breath across his cheek. “Because we’re best friends, hyung. And we will be forever, so I want my first time to be with someone that I’ll never hate and it will be a good memory.” _

_ Jaebum turns his head to say  _ I don’t think that’s how it works  _ but then Jinyoung leans forward and catches his mouth. _

_ Their lips brush once, softly, and Jaebum almost jumps at the way it feels like static. Jinyoung’s eyes are hungry before he leans in and closes them again, pressing his lips against Jaebum’s, harder this time. The pressure on his mouth from Jinyoung’s soft, thick lips makes his stomach swoop like the drop in a rollercoaster. His hand comes up of its own volition to cup Jinyoung’s cheek, a small noise in Jinyoung’s throat when Jaebum’s fingers press gently into his jaw. Jinyoung opens his mouth, a tentative tongue flicking out against Jaebum’s lips where they’re pressed together in tight anxiety. It startles a gasp out of him, and Jinyoung immediately sticks his tongue in Jaebum’s open mouth and groans when he does it. The sound is like a punch: Jaebum’s breathing quickens, the hand on Jinyoung’s face cupping tighter as Jinyoung’s tongue rolls across his own. A feverish heat flashes up and down his legs when Jinyoung’s hand grips his shirt at his chest like he’s trying to hold him in place as Jaebum melts into the kiss and opens wider. _

_ They make out for a while, just their heads turned as they explore each other’s mouths with their tongues. Jaebum gets shamefully hard as the kiss progresses, Jinyoung’s tongue prodding and his teeth sharp where he pulls on his bottom lip. Little moans and quiet noises pull themselves out of Jinyoung’s throat, and Jaebum isn’t sure who’s enjoying it more; Jaebum’s heartbeat starts to thud a little louder in his ears like ominous drums as Jinyoung bites his lip again and sucks it playfully. The dream starts to dissolve around the edges a little, the pounding in his ears taking up a particularly strange rhythm; pounding in groups of threes with a dead stop in between. His chest tightens uncomfortably, scared now of the way his heartbeat falters and drowns out the sound of Jinyoung’s quiet, pleased moans as they kiss a little shyly on his bed. He’s staring at the blackness of his eyelids until he opens them, the pounding louder, the edges of the dream curling into an ugly black while Jinyoung fades and a terrified Jaebum claps his hands over his ears–– _

Jaebum jerks awake, heart thudding painfully hard against his ribs as he sits up. There’s a brief moment of silence as he breathes heavily, sweat on his forehead and neck, sticking his shirt uncomfortably to his back. Then the pounding starts up again, coming in threes before a pause, then more pounding. He finally hears the voice behind it, no longer drowning under the murky pretense of a memory.

He throws the blanket off his legs and stands, furiously trying to shake off the dream before he gets to the door. But the memory itself is burned into him, so intricately wound into everything else he’s ever felt or done or said that it’s impossible to remove completely. Even as he walks to the door to answer it, he still feels suspended in that purgatory between asleep and awake, a prisoner to himself and the feeling of Jinyoung’s mouth on his own all those years ago. A heavy hearted sigh shakes his frame as he pulls open the front door of his apartment. 

Bambam is waiting on the other side of it, trying to balance a bag full of what smells like delicious Thai food in one hand while knocking furiously on his door with the other. There’s two pairs of chopsticks clenched between his teeth, and he attempts to talk around them as he struggles to balance the food. 

“Yah, took you long enough, huh?” But it sounds a little muddy while he tries to talk around the wood. Sighing in loving exasperation, Jaebum takes the chopsticks out of his mouth and grabs the bag sitting on top of the boxes in his hand before he drops them.

“Sorry,” Jaebum says, and his throat feels raw and scratchy from crying and disuse. He clears his throat and swallows, turning away from the door and motioning Bambam inside. “I was sleeping.”

“I figured. You’ve been sleeping for like, two days.”

Jaebum rolls his eyes as they spread the food out on Jaebum’s coffee table, falling onto the couch side by side. “It hasn’t been two days.”

Jaebum goes to pass him the chopsticks which is when Bambam notices the blood on his hand. His eyes widen, response abandoned. “Hyung! Holy shit!” he grabs Jaebum’s wrist. “What the hell did you do?!” 

He looks down at his own hand, angry red welts and dark, dried blood cracking around his knuckles. He had forgotten about it, but now with the reminder, a dull throb starts up in them again. “Oh. I punched a picture frame."

Bambam sighs but doesn’t let go of his wrist. “Where?” 

Jaebum nods with his head towards the door, on the opposite side of where Bambam had come in. “It was that one.”

“Good thing it was on the other side or I would have stepped in glass when I came in.” Bambam lets go of Jaebum’s wrist and stands up. “Hurry up and go start washing that off while I clean up the glass.” 

Reluctantly Jaebum goes into the bathroom, turning on the hot water and waiting for it to heat up for a moment. He hears Bambam sweeping up the broken glass, and sighs in disappointment at what a mess he’s been. Bambam comes in just in time to see Jaebum stick his hand under the water and hiss between his teeth as the heat burns the open cuts.

“Do you have a first aid kit?” 

“Yeah,” he motions to the cabinet under the sink with his foot, “it’s down here.” 

Bambam grabs it as Jaebum washes the dried blood off his hand and dries it on a towel. His knuckles throb with an ache, painful where he flexes his fingers. 

“Knock it off, idiot,” Bambam says, holding his wrist steady as he wraps gauze around the wounds. It only takes a minute or so, Bambam taping the end down with medical tape to keep it closed before going back to the living room to eat.

Once they sit back down, Bambam picks up where they left off, satisfied at treating Jaebum’s wound. “Anyways, like I was saying. It might as well have been two whole days. It’s like, 4pm, and no one has heard from you in like a day and a half. Wasn’t Jinyoung at your house yesterday at like 7?”

He knew it was going to come up but he still isn't ready for it. “Yeah. He was. But he was only here for a little bit.” 

Bambam doesn’t look over, spreading a napkin over his uncomfortably tight leather pants before digging into one of the boxes. “Did you guys fight?”

Jaebum sighs, already feeling weary at this line of questioning. His shoulders sag, and he picks at the steaming food in the styrofoam boxes without actually picking anything up. “Yes.” 

The younger boy just hums, shoving food into his mouth and rolling his shoulders back. He makes a satisfied noise as he eats, swallowing before he looks over. “Do you want to talk about it?” 

“Not particularly.” 

Bambam reaches up to take the round Lennon sunglasses off his head and put them down on the table. They eat in silence for a while, though Jaebum mostly just pushes food around a plate before miserably shoving it in his mouth and forcing it down.   
  
Finally, Bambam puts his chopsticks down and talks around the last bit of food in his mouth. “Forgive me for saying this, hyung, but you look like shit.” 

Jaebum makes a face at the table. “Thanks, Bam.”

“Sorry. But I mean, you look  _ terrible.  _ Not just like you’re sick, though. I mean, I can tell you’ve been crying, because your face is really swollen and red–”

“Kunpimook–”

_“Sorry._ But like, I just mean…” he sighs. He’s always had a little trouble with words. His Korean better than it ever has been, but at the moment he's just struggling to find the words to express what he means. “Like, I can just  _ tell.”  _

“Tell what?”

Bambam looks at him seriously. “That you’re miserable without him.”

Throwing his chopsticks down on the table, he makes an irritated noise against the back of his teeth with his tongue. “Yah, don’t be ridiculous. It’s not like we broke up or anything. We weren’t even together. We’ve never been together. We’ve known each other for 24 years, we’ve fought before. It’s not the end of the world.” 

He says it, but him and Bambam both know that’s bullshit. “I saw him when he came over to our house yesterday,” Bambam says quietly. "He was crying when I let him in, and he was looking for Youngjae but Youngjae wasn’t home yet. Hyung, I’ve never seen Jinyoung hyung cry like that.” 

He just stares at the table, a fresh wound ripping itself to existence in his chest. 

“I mean, he could barely even talk. He tried to tell me what happened but all I could make out was that you guys had a really serious fight and that you probably would never speak to him again. By the time Youngjae finally came in, Jinyoung hyung was crying so hard he was hyper ventilating. Youngjae and I thought we were gonna have to call an ambulance––”

“Bambam,” he begs, and he turns his whole body with the most desperate pleading in his voice. The thought of Jinyoung falling apart like that because of him makes him feel like he’s bleeding from the inside out. His chest hurts and he claps his hands together. “Please, Bambam, stop. _Please.”_

“I’m just saying, hyung, both of you are hurting so badly but you can fix it.”

“Bambam, I don’t think we can.” 

Jaebum understands he’s concerned and trying to be gentle, but Bambam’s insistence feels like he’s digging his fingers into a fresh, open wound. 

“You can just talk it out–”

With a growl Jaebum drives both hands deep into his hair and yanks on it savagely. “No! We can’t! Bambam, you don’t even know what happened! We can’t fix this! We can’t!”

“You can’t or you won’t?” Bambam shoots back, and Jaebum can tell by the flush on his face that his feelings are hurt from being shouted at. Guilt twists the knife in his stomach deeper, serrated teeth ripping his insides apart until they’re a writhing, bleeding mess. “He said the same thing, you know that, right?” 

“Huh?” 

Bambam stands, throwing the napkin from his lap down onto the table. He swipes up his shades, putting them on top of his head again and then pulling down his shirt like he doesn’t want Jaebum to notice his hands are shaking. Jaebum immediately loses his edge, guilt rising like bile in his throat at how he’s managed to hurt Bambam in the span of an hour and a half. 

“He said that you couldn’t fix it. That you guys can’t fix this, whatever this is. When he finally calmed down enough to talk intelligibly, he told us that all you’ve done is lie to him. And that all he’s been is selfish and afraid, and that after the fight you guys had, he doesn’t think you’ll ever speak to him again. He genuinely believes you’ll never forgive him, Jaebum hyung.”

“Maybe I won’t,” he whispers, and the way it shakes on the end makes him wonder if he’s telling the truth. 

“He’s right, though.”

“About what?” Jaebum grips the couch with both hands as he stares up at Bambam, who just looks down at him with miserable hurt in his eyes. 

“Being selfish. You’re _both_ selfish.”

“Bambam–”

“You guys have been friends for 24 years but can’t even communicate correctly. Have either of you ever thought about how that affects us? That you make us play telephone between the two of you when you’re fighting? How neither of you ever take our advice and just assume you know everything?” 

He’s genuinely upset now, and it makes Jaebum’s stomach fill with rocks. Bambam hardly ever gets upset, their happy-go-lucky ball of energy, but it leaks out of him like light under a door as he rants. It’s here that Jaebum can finally see the effects of the strain that him and Jinyoung put on their friends: Bambam bites his lip and tries not to get angry, but Jaebum can see that he’s worried and hurting, too. 

“You can’t see it, hyung, but it’s like you’re asking us to pick sides.”

“Bam-ah, I’d never ask you to do that–”

“I didn’t say that you’d ask. I know you wouldn’t. And I know Jinyoung hyung wouldn’t either. And I even know that you’re not doing this on purpose. But both of you, god, you’re both so selfish, and so stubborn. You think you know everything because you guys have been friends your whole lives but it just made you both really, really blind.”

Bambam’s words strike him like an arrow to the chest. _Could Bambam be right?_ He’d always been so sure that he knew Jinyoung better than Jinyoung knew himself. That, spending so much time together and being constantly together, he knew everything about Jinyoung that there is to know. But could this have damaged them? Made them blind to the changes that come with age? His heart flutters weakly in his chest that maybe he doesn’t actually know Jinyoung that well anymore at all.

Bambam just sighs heavily, as though talking so much made him tired. He puts a hand on Jaebum’s shoulder comfortingly. “Keep the food, and try to eat something. Take care of your hand, and charge your phone so you can answer us when we check up on you.” 

Even after pointing out all the awful and selfish things that Jaebum has done to not only him but all of them, Bambam still worries about him. A hot stab of self-loathing reminds him that he doesn’t deserve it.

As he’s seeing Bambam out, the younger stops in the doorway and looks at him from over the top of his sunglasses.

“I love you, hyung, but I meant what I said. Both of you are selfish. All of us love you both equally as much and I think I speak for everyone when I say that we’d rather lose you both than pick sides. Just...think about it, at least. Just think about talking to Jinyoung hyung.” Bambam nods once, not waiting for an answer before he bangs down the stairs and disappears onto the sidewalk.

Jaebum closes the door, falling against it heavily with his back and sliding down until he’s sitting on the floor. His split knuckles throb under the bandage that Bambam had wrapped for him, and his heart sits heavily in his chest as he closes his eyes and tries to breathe.

_ You think you know everything because you guys have been friends your whole lives but it just made you both really, really blind. _

Jaebum chokes, a broken sound, and buries his face in his arms. The memory disguised as a dream replays against the backs of his eyelids, unable to escape it even in the midst of his waking agony. Heartache, visceral and hungry, curls up around his ankles like rope and cement and chains him to the floor. He cries for a long time, until the exhaustion pulls him under the waves and sleep finally gives him dreamless relief.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The poetry book that Jinyoung got Jaebum is a real poetry book by my own personal favorite poet, and the name of this chapter came from the title of the poem that is mentioned in the chapter. You can read it in full here: ["Wishbone", Richard Siken.](http://www.colorado.edu/journals/standards/V7N1/MMM/siken.html)


	8. viii. damage done

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello again  
> just a few quick things 
> 
> -ocs are weird i know but i dont know enough about anyone else to comfortably stick them into a fic, so i usually just make up a person for sake of keeping the story together  
> -there's a small part of jinyoung's POV that is in all italics; this won't be habitual !!! but it is there  
> -pls forgive this late update/spelling bc i checked this at 130 am  
> -don't hate me too much  
> \- <3

A week passes.

Then two.

Nothing.

The radio silence is nothing new, but it’s not comfortable the way that the anger is. Even in the time he didn’t talk to Jinyoung for three weeks when they were twenty, something about the distance between them felt finite; that, despite the gravity of the fight, they would make up in the end. Their friendship would heal and resume as normal, if just a tiny bit different.

This is not that way, and it burns, like a candle flame held directly under his heart. Sleep comes too easily; he eats little and ignores the ringing of his phone as he tosses and turns in fitful rest. The times that he’s awake is spent staring at the ceiling, the shower wall, the television as made-up people live their perfect lives and resolve all their issues with no fallout and everyone lives happily ever after in the end. It’s a wonder that he doesn’t send his foot through the screen.

He barely leaves his house. The times that he does leave, he only goes to the corner store to stand at the counter and mechanically consume ramen while drinking bitter coffee. Other times he just walks, for hours and hours until the sun goes down and he realizes he’s five miles from his house and has to take the subway back. Where the night used to calm him, wrapped in the glow of subway fluorescents, now it only makes him think of the bright white shine of Jinyoung’s teeth when he smiles before covering it with a slender hand.

Head leaned back, he closes his eyes, dying to forget.

 

*

 

After two weeks of ditching class and walking around the city until he falls asleep on the subway, he finally emails his teachers. If the rest of his life is going to be an utter catastrophe, he at least deserves one thing to hold out hope for.

 _To:_ _jonesm@scc.edu.kr  
_ _From:_ _imjaebum0106@scc.edu.kr  
_ _Subject: Missing class_

_Hello Professor Jones,_

_Recently I’ve gotten really sick, and I’ll be missing class. I’m not sure when I’ll be well enough to come back. If possible, I can do assignments from home._

_Thank you,  
_ _Im Jaebum_

Jaebum sits back in his computer chair with a sigh and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. An entire two weeks has already gone by since he’d last seen Jinyoung in his apartment, and the same since Bambam had brought him food because he’d known he wasn’t eating and then he’d left, too, scorned by Jaebum’s refusal to to acknowledge what they’d done.

His phone lights up impatiently, as it has been for the past two weeks, with messages that are left on read. Their friends had desperately tried to talk to him, calling him and texting him first with worry and then anger when he wouldn’t answer. Jackson especially had much to say; page after page of text scrolled up their chat detailing why Jaebum’s always been an asshole and still is one. It kind of makes him laugh a little bit.

He picks up his phone listlessly, not really intending to do anything with it except scroll through the messages he’s already seen and then toss it back down to forget about it. But as he’s scrolling through the plethora of texts that Jackson had sent him, a notification comes from the top of the screen that makes his heart drop fast.

Blood rushes painfully loud in his ears as he reads Jinyoung’s name and the first couple words of an angry text before it disappears.

It’s been a two whole weeks, bordering on three now. An entire two weeks and some change since they’d hooked up, then fought, then fought again. It’s been fourteen days since the memory dream and the same since he’s spoken to anyone who wasn’t a disinterested corner store clerk. The days had passed in a patient haze that left him distracted and dizzy and hurting, licking a wound that won’t seem to heal. It’s been two weeks since he’d last heard Jinyoung’s voice and he’s not really sure he’s ready to talk to him at all.

A knife twists in his stomach. But he opens it anyway.

_You need to text one of them back. Any of them. Let them know you’re okay._

Jaebum scoffs. Figures that Jinyoung would still be trying to tell him what to do. He doesn’t answer, closing the messages and going absentmindedly to his home screen, where he just scrolls through his apps and pretends like he’s not considering texting him back.

A few minutes pass, and then:

_I know you’re reading my messages, you asshole. At least tell Jackson you’re alive so he stops calling ME about it._

The three little dots show he’s still typing. Jaebum just stares at them.

_Professor Jones asked about you last week. She asked me where you were, if you were okay._

And because he can’t stop himself, he replies, _What did you tell her?_

_That I didn’t know._

Something inside him shifts brokenly, and he locks his phone before throwing it down on his desk. He pushes out of his chair angrily, unsure what about the exchange bothers him so much as he changes his shirt. Jaebum pauses for a moment as he pulls his shoes on by the door, one hand braced against the wall just underneath the bleached spot where a picture once hung.

 _Maybe you’re upset because he lied,_ his traitorous brain tells him, and he clenches his teeth painfully as he resumes putting on his shoes.

_Maybe this is what Jinyoung meant about being lied to._

 

_*_

 

In the end he doesn’t go far, too tired from weeks of sleeping too much and eating too little to get lost in downtown like he usually does. There’s a coffee shop about a mile or so from his apartment building, and he wanders into it almost as if he’d ended up there on accident. It was, at least in part, intentional, and he’s minutely comforted at the way the barista recognizes him and gives him a pretty smile as he quietly orders the same coffee he always gets.

Jaebum picks a seat far in the corner, stationed by the window so he can absentmindedly watch the foot traffic as it passes back and forth like the steady, unwavering ticking of a metronome. The coffee warms his stomach but he barely feels it, eyes unfocused somewhere across the street, mind wandering through years and years of memories that come and go as quickly as darting fish. Nothing seems to stick for long, but he’s finally broken from his haze when his cellphone buzzes loudly on the round formica tabletop he’d been leaning on.

He jumps, picking it up by impulse, forgetting that he’s been trying to keep his distance from everyone. He barely registers the photo of himself and Jackson with their faces squished together in frame before he’s putting it to his ear and answering it with a dull and listless “Hello?”

“Fucking finally,” Jackson sighs, in a rare show of vulgarity. “You know, Jaebum hyung, the five of us have been trying to get a hold of you for two weeks.”

Jaebum puts his coffee down on the table, no longer interested in it. He sighs back, though more tired than relieved. “Yeah. I know.”

Jackson sounds heartbroken when he replies. “Hyung, why would you do that to us? Why would you worry us like that? Just because you and Jinyoungie are fighting, doesn’t mean that we don’t still care about you. We were all really scared, hyung.”

A tremor starts up his his hand where it raises to pinch the bridge of his nose. He swallows roughly, trying to keep the tears from burning his eyes when he closes them, but the agony in Jackson’s voice is too close to the one in his own heart, and guilt mixes in with the hurt until his stomach aches like he’d ingested poison. Jaebum is no saint; he’s done selfish things, awful things, things that he regrets, but somehow the pain of hurting the people he’s closest to just can’t compare to anything else.

His voice is quiet. “Jackson. I’m sorry.”

There’s a pause, and his heart lurches at the thought that Jackson might not believe him. But then Jackson is breathing out heavily, forgiveness evident in the sound alone. A forgiveness he doesn't deserve. “Hyung, I know you’re hurting. It’s okay.”

“It’s…” he struggles to find the words, having barely said anything for almost two weeks. “It’s not okay. I–whatever is going on with Jinyoung and I shouldn’t affect you all like this.”

“It does though, hyung,” he says softly, his voice a heavy hand over his heart. “We’re a family.”

Jaebum makes a sound akin to choking as the tears well up, unbidden and unwelcome in the quiet of the coffee shop. His fingers pinch harder, trying to stem the flow of them, squeezing the bridge of his nose until he feels like he’s going to break it. But a few tears find their way down the sunken in lines of his cheeks and he sniffles awkwardly as he tries to think of something to say that won’t drown him in the bitter salt.

“I know,” is all that comes.

“Are you crying?”

What good is it to lie? Maybe it’s far too late to have a lesson be learned, but lying has gotten him nowhere else but here, crying alone in a coffeeshop where the employees and patrons turn away uncomfortably.

“Yes.”

Incredibly, Jackson laughs. “Jeez, hyung. Aren’t you in public right now?”

“How do you know?”

“Because I’m outside.”

Jaebum’s head jerks up, blinking rapidly to clear the blurriness of tears from his eyes. He looks outside, immediately finding Jackson where he stands on the curb with his phone pressed to his ear and waving at him.

“Jackson–!”

He watches incredulously as Jackson laughs and hangs up the phone, snaking his way through the traffic of people and inside. He rubs his hands together, warming them up as he makes his way to the table and sits down across from him heavily.

“What the hell is this? How’d you know I was here?”

Jackson shrugs, picking up Jaebum’s coffee and peering into the cup like he might be interested in drinking the rest of it. “I didn’t _know,_ but I had a feeling.”

“You couldn’t possibly have just 'had a feeling' that I’d be here, since I haven’t really left the house in two weeks.”

“Hyung,” Jackson says with a seriousness that makes him smile a little bit, the first time in what feels like forever. “I hate to say this, but you’re kind of predictable.”

Jaebum slouches, unwilling to admit that this is true but not outright denying it either.

“Plus, I had Hayeon text me if you ever showed up,” he adds nonchalantly, deciding to drink the rest of Jaebum’s coffee in one go.

Mortified, Jaebum doesn’t even turn around to look at her and instead slides down in his chair a little bit. “You suck,” he mutters, but it lacks any heat and Jackson smiles brilliantly at him.

“You’re feeling well enough to insult me, so that’s a good sign.”

Jaebum rolls his eyes, but he’s not wrong––despite the crushing despair he’s felt over the last couple of weeks, knowing that Jackson forgives him for being a selfish jerk and spending some time with him _has_ made him feel a little more… alive. Not better, necessarily, and not happy; the guilt and the pain still lingers like prodding fingers around his heart. But he can, at least for the moment, breathe a little bit easier.

“You know,” Jackson continues, pushing the empty coffee cup away and looking at him seriously. “You should go out.”

He cocks an eyebrow at him. “I _am_ out.”

Jackson returns the eyeroll. “I meant, like, _out._ With someone.”

The thought feels like he’s been hit in the stomach, but he doesn’t react outwardly. “Hasn’t it been proven that the ‘to get over someone, get under someone else’ philosophy doesn’t really work?”

“I didn’t say you had to sleep with them, hyung. Just that you should try it. Maybe just try and get your mind off of it.”

Like he could ever think of anything else.

He doesn’t say this, though. “Like, what, take a girl on a date and pretend like we’ll end up together even though I’m in love with someone who hates me?”

“Or a boy,” Jackson supplies helpfully, and then sighs at the second half of his comment. “He doesn’t hate you, Jaebum.”

“You should have seen the text he sent me this morning.”

Jackson perks up. “He texted you?”

“Yes,” he says bitterly, crossing his arms. “Just to call me an asshole and tell me to text you back so you stopped calling him about me.”

Jaebum feels guilty when Jackson deflates a little, feelings hurt. “Oh.”

“You know that’s not what he meant,” he says, and a weird feeling burbles in his throat at defending Jinyoung at a time like this. “He just doesn’t want to talk to me, or about me, and he’s trying to look out for you guys. That’s all.”

“No, I know, it’s just that he won’t really talk to any of us either.” Jackson sighs again, his jovial manner depleting minute by minute. “He’ll text us back sometimes just to tell us he’s alright, but he won’t answer any questions or let any of us come over. When he finally answered me yesterday, he told me that he’d been crying for what felt like two weeks straight. He can’t even eat, and his dad said that he’d worried about how much weight Jinyoungie had lost already and how much he’s been sleeping–”

It doesn’t make him feel better, knowing that Jinyoung is suffering just as much as he is in the wake of whatever fucked up thing they’ve done to each other. It makes him feel _ill_ , a disease in the pit of his stomach and spreading like spilled black oil over the surface of the water, staining and messy. His hands grip the edge of the table until his knuckles are white, stomach rolling like he’s going to throw up.

“Jackson–”

“Oh, god, hyung, are you okay?”

The feeling washes away slowly when Jackson grabs his wrist across the table, holding onto it with confident fingers as Jaebum tries to swallow down the agony.

He just feels like crying again. When Jinyoung had basically forced the confession out of him four years ago, the fight that had followed it was unlike any other that they’d ever had; even though there was a small part of him that worried their friendship was damaged beyond repair because of his feelings, in his heart of hearts he knew that it would not be the end. They had too much history, too many intertwined memories, two pieces of a puzzle that fit together in a way that they would never find ever again. And he knew, deep down, that his confession would not break them apart completely. They would find their stride again, somehow, a little differently, but their stride all the same. And they did.

But now, as Jaebum breathes through his mouth to keep from breaking down in the middle of his favorite coffee shop, he’s not so sure anymore. The things they’d done, they things they’d said to each other, holding their hands over each other’s eyes and aiming for wherever it would hurt the most. Jaebum feels like a living tarot card, swords sticking out his back and pushed deeper with every day that goes by without relief, without some sort of sign that he and Jinyoung will be okay.

Because for once, in all his 24 years of living and loving Park Jinyoung, he isn’t sure it will be.

 

*

 

The week after the coffee shop, he’s walking around downtown aimlessly again when he bumps into Hayeon.

“Oh!” she says, surprised, nearly dropping her phone as Jaebum runs right into her. Her long brown hair swishes down over her face like a curtain as she fumbles to keep her grip on it.

Instinctively, Jaebum grabs her gently by the top of her arm to steady her. When he realizes who it is, he lets go and shoves his hands back into the pockets of his coat. “I’m sorry. Hi, Hayeon.”

She looks up at the sound of his voice. “Jaebum!”

He tries to smile at her, and he wonders if it looks weird on his face. She tucks her hair behind her ear, pocketing her phone and laughing as she waves off his apology.

“That’s alright, I should have been paying more attention.”

Jaebum desperately wants to feel something for her. Anything. She’s pretty, he can’t deny that, all soft lines and long legs with a thick-lipped smile. But his heart just stirs weakly, finding all the things about her that remind him of Jinyoung and pouring salt into his wound.

“Me too, I guess,” he says, and manages a chuckle that at least sounds a _little_ bit real.

“What are you doing down here?” she asks, crossing her arms against the cold and nodding to the general area. Her purse hangs from her elbow, bumping against her jean-clad knee and he focuses on it as he formulates a response that doesn’t include _pining over my ex-best friend that I slept with._

Finally he just shrugs, looking back up at her face. “Just walking.”

She raises an eyebrow and it kind of makes him laugh. “Do you just walk around down here often?”

Jaebum starts to desperately look for the things in her face that are the opposite of Jinyoung. She’s a girl, for one, Jinyoung’s opposite in the most basic of ways. Their eyes are different; hers don’t crinkle when she smiles, and he finds that the absence of smile lines distracts him for a moment. Even finding the things that make her the opposite of the thing he really wants, he finds that his heart can barely feel it at all.

“Yes, actually.”

She laughs, and it’s high-pitched and cute. Jaebum smiles at her, a little less awkwardly.

He finds his heart doesn’t race like it used to, and it feels more born out of desperation than anything when he lightly bumps her elbow with his own. “Hayeon-ah, what are you doing this weekend?”

She looks surprised. “Me?”

He laughs. Maybe he isn’t such a bad actor after all. “Yes, you.”

“Nothing…?”

“Do you want to go out?”

With a startled noise, her purse hits his thigh at the same time she swats him with her hand. “Jaebum! Don’t mess with me like that!”

Leaning away, he laughs more and jokingly rubs his arm as though her strike had hurt. “I’m not!”

“You seriously want to go out, Jaebum?”

 _No._ “Yes.”

Hayeon pretends to think about it for a second. “Hmmm…”

“Are you really going to say no to me?”

She scoffs. “Don’t be cocky with me, Im Jaebum.”

“So just say yes already, then.”

 _What the hell am I doing?_ He feels delirious. Crazy. This is the last thing he should be doing, and yet here he is, trying to make this girl who serves him coffee swoon on her feet and go on a date with him.

“Fine,” Hayeon says, like she’s annoyed, but Jaebum can see the slight blush on her face. “When?”

“Saturday?”

She nods, pulling her phone back out of her pocket. She turns it to him, letting him type in his phone number before locking it and sliding it into her bag. “I have to go now, I’m meeting my mom, but I’ll text you. Okay?”

“Sure,” Jaebum says, flashing another smile at her, and it’s a wonder he’s managed to keep the act up this long. Maybe when it’s not Jinyoung he’s trying to put on a show for he’s actually pretty good at it. “I’ll see you Saturday.”

Hayeon waves, jogging off with a smile on her face. Jaebum watches her go, confused in every single way he can think of while he shoves his hands deeper into the pockets of his coat.

Suddenly and strangely he hears his father’s voice again.

_Grief does strange things to people, Jaebum-ah._

Turning away, he braces against the wind and walks deeper into the heart of the city.

 

*

 

_One thing Jaebum and Jinyoung have in common, among the many, is that they like to take the subway at night._

_He had tried to explain to Jaebum once about why he liked it so much, but found that, despite being a poet at heart, he couldn’t really find the words to. It was difficult to describe the way that the loneliness of the empty cars at night with the dim white lights and the quiet rush of the wind past the windows made him feel simultaneously empty and full at the same time, a strange feeling in his heart like felt like content and heartbreak at the same time. Jaebum, very much not a poet, had laughed kindly at him and told him to be quiet and just enjoy the ride._

_It’s been a week since he’s last spoken to Jaebum, and over a text message, so it doesn’t even really feel like they’ve spoken at all. It’s been another three since he’d last seen him, their hands overlapped on the cold polished brass of the doorknob as he’d left Jaebum with some choice parting words; his hand still burns where he'd felt the warmth of Jaebum's skin under his palm._

Drowning is as good of a word as any _, he thinks to himself, holding his bag on his lap to take up less space on the subway where he’s sitting near the front of the car. It’s not terribly full, most of the working crowd already gone home, but those that still wander the streets looking for food or bars are still standing up and holding onto the shining chrome of the handrails. His eyes slip closed every now and again, white noise rushing in his ears like blood or waves on the sand as he imagines Jaebum’s face against the back of his eyelids like he’s trying not to forget it. As if he could. The feeling overwhelms him, stops his heart short with an irregular and sluggish beat as he breathes out a shaky breath._

I just want to see you, _he thinks, as though Jaebum could hear him, even though this is not a thought he would be expressing out loud given their current situation. The desire to see him isn’t even born out of his actual_ desire _, really, or the deeper feeling wrapped around his heart like strangled vines, but just the desire to make sure he’s real, that he’d existed at all. Jinyoung and heartache had never really made good company, and he scorns it readily as it comes and goes like the tide._

_He blinks, eyes focused on the way the lights of the underground will pass the window every so often, banishing his reflection and giving him a glimpse of the dark wall of the tunnels. The overhead lights are dimmed with the later hour, a soft white glow that used to make him feel warm but just makes him feel lonely without a shoulder to lean his head on. A particularly loud burst of laughter from someone on his left, further down the car, makes him turn his head._

_As though he’s dreaming, his eyes land on the person standing near the subway doors instead of the laughing one that had originally broken him from his trance. Familiar dark eyes pierce his heart when their eyes meet and Jinyoung is too shocked to do anything but stare back._

_Jaebum stands under one of the soft bulbs, one hand over his head and white knuckling the chrome hand-rail, the only indication of feeling. His handsome face is washed in the watery white glow, eyes heavy and unblinking where they hold Jinyoung’s own as they look at each other from across the subway car. His heart contracts painfully, unable to look away, terrified that Jaebum will disappear if he does. Somehow the white noise disappears, the entire world around them shrinking down until it’s just the two of them–Jinyoung sitting, Jaebum standing, holding each other’s eyes with expressionless faces._

Say something _, he begs silently, his own face unmoving, blinking slowly._ Say something, anything, tell me that you love me.

_Shadowed by the overhead lights, his eyes are dark and heavy where they linger on his face, his mouth a tight line, but nothing else. He looks unreal, dressed all in shades of black and blue like a bruise. The longer he stares, the more Jaebum takes on a blurry quality, a smeared stain on an oil painting. Jinyoung blinks his eyes and silently begs him not to go._

_It feels like a dream, the way Jaebum just watches him quietly, a handsome stranger on the subway. Jinyoung’s heart slows, beating in his ears, wanting the moment to never end; he could die here, he thinks, caught in Jaebum’s gaze like a spiderweb._

_His hands grip his bag tighter unconsciously._

Hyung, say something.

_Jaebum keeps looking at him._

_A scream builds up in his throat but he just swallows it. The moment between them stretches into eternity, a lifetime of holding each other’s eyes, existing in two completely different universes but finally seeing through a fragile mirror. Jinyoung convinces himself he can't remember what Jaebum's voice sounds like even though he hears it in his dreams._

_Jinyoung is about to stand, to go to him or run he isn't sure, when the intercom pings with the approaching stop. The end is coming, he knows, and he silently begs Jaebum not to go, but there’s a feeling in his heart like he’s going to, anyway._

_Neither of them break until the subway starts to stop, and, not holding onto anything, Jinyoung is thrown off balance and nearly hits the floor as the subway pulls into the station. A woman asks if he’s alright as she hands his back bag to him while he sits up, and he nods at her with a quiet thank you. The whisper of the subway doors has him desperately looking back at the place Jaebum had just been standing._  
  
_But he’s already gone, melted into the crowd of people in the station, and it makes Jinyoung wonder if he’d really even been there at all._

 

 


	9. ix. little lies

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this is.........literally all angst i'm sorry 
> 
> anyways!! ah here's the updatejlskgljf sorry if there's any mistakes i looked over it but i did it right before work and i have to leave now!!!! <33 
> 
> <3333

By fate or some unconscious desire for pain, Jaebum takes his date to the river park. 

Despite its beauty, everywhere he looks there is a memory of Jinyoung that stains the backs of his eyelids. Growing up they spent a lot of time here, alone and together, that solidified the river park as  _ their place.  _ It was never really said out loud; they never said  _ do you want to go to our place?  _ But when they were 15 and had nothing to do in the summers but ride bikes and they were soaked to the bone with pool water, they always ended up here. Days stretched into weeks with every part of the river park touched by their hands and there was no place that they hadn't claimed. Any time one of their friends came looking for them, they always just knew the river park was the place to go. 

Even now, sitting on a bench by the sidewalk overlooking the river and waiting on a girl, he can't help but think of Jinyoung. He knows this place like the back of his hand, now. Jaebum knows every good place to stand to watch the sun as it lowers itself into the water and extinguishes as the night comes and pulls up the curtain of polka dotted navy. He remembers, unwillingly, how many times Jinyoung has grabbed his hand as they watched the sun set together and sighed  _ hyung, isn't it so wonderful? _

Jaebum swallows with difficulty. He adjusts his sunglasses further up his nose and bounces his leg anxiously as he waits for Hayeon to show up. He tries, fruitlessly, to forget his memories of Jinyoung here and his attempt to rewrite, covering them like hands over eyes. But like a stubborn stain that refuses to come out, there are things that just won't go. 

His heart contracts painfully in his chest and he resists to urge to place his hand over it and squeeze. Jaebum grasps for it desperately but even at the sound of her voice behind him there is no comfort to be found here. 

“Jaebum?” 

He turns to her, sunglasses slipping down a little. An unsteady hand raises to push them back up and he hopes she doesn’t notice. “There you are. Hi, Hayeon.” 

She smiles, and a curtain of her long hair slides off her shoulder to rest against her cheek when she looks down shyly. Guilt gnaws at him like a hungry dog when he realizes that he has nothing to give her but this half-hearted parody of a date. She’s so pretty, though, and maybe somewhere there is a distant part of himself that sees it, and appreciates it; for now the only thing he really sees is another face that isn’t the one he’s always thinking of. 

“How are you?” she asks, coming around the side of the bench to sit by him. He just watches her, trying to think of something to say.

_ I’m not good. I’m not good. I’m not a good person.  _

His face seems to take over, and it curves into a sweet smile on its own. “I’m alright. It’s kind of cold, though.” 

Hayeon nods. “I know, and you picked the river park of all places.” 

Jaebum tries to be nonchalant as he shrugs, shoving down the way he wants to say  _ it’s because I used to come here with Jinyoung and I needed something familiar  _ to say, “I just like it.” 

“Sure,” she says, and giggles when Jaebum playfully shoves at her shoulder. Hayeon stands after a moment, urging him up. “Come on, then. Let’s go for a walk while the sun sets and then go down to all the shops.” 

He’s so distracted by the time they get halfway through the park that he barely notices how the same person has walked by them four times. Jaebum bumps shoulders with someone a while later, but he looks up too late and only catches a glimpse of wide shoulders in a grey hoodie before they’ve melted into the crowd. A feeling stirs up uncomfortably in his gut, but he ignores it. His attention is diverted when Hayeon links her arm through his and points with her other hand to something in the distance.

He’s grateful for the way that Hayeon seems to have a need to fill the silence with her own voice, and he very quickly forgets about the person he’d run into as she talks. She has plenty to say as they walk along the sidewalk, weaving in and out of couples and families, while Jaebum mostly just listens. His thoughts get away from him often: every monument they pass that catches his eye has some minute memory of Jinyoung attached to it, and they play out before him like a zoetrope of ghosts. No matter how much he tries to shake them, he finds himself reliving them anyway, the torrent of Hayeon’s words lost under the way he remembers Jinyoung’s high pitched voice. 

_ Hyung!  _

_ Jaebum looked over from where he’d been laying in the grass, half in the shade from the copse of trees by the water. Back then it hadn’t been fenced off, and Jinyoung had eagerly taken off his shoes and socks to stand calf-deep in the murky river water.  _

_ His shirt was gone, rays of sun soaking in his tan skin and shading it gold. His shorts sat low on his slim hips, his body a long way from filling out like it would when he hit 20. His skin stretched unmarked over bones save for that light dusting of hair that bisected underneath his navel and disappeared into his waistband. Jaebum had been stunned. When did he get so... _ hot?  _ When did Jaebum start noticing so much? _

Hyung!  _ Jinyoung called to him again, waving. Jaebum had been shaken from his observation with shame. They were 17, then, and had long since put the kiss behind them. But Jaebum never forgot it, never stopped thinking about it, and it only grew until it became  _ this:  _ stolen glances and the warm shock that flooded him when he admired Jinyoung’s body and still didn’t know how to say ‘I love you’.  _

_ Jinyoung had waded out of the river and came to him impatiently. He stood over him, legs dripping water and shoulders drenched in a halo of gold sunlight. _

Hyung, have you even been listening to me?  _ he’d complained, lip stuck out in an unconscious pout.  _

No,  _ he’d said honestly, and laughed when Jinyoung made a frustrated noise. Jinyoung had just sighed and flopped next to him on the grass, head next to Jaebum’s hips so that he was completely bathed in the sunlight. This was the first time Jaebum noticed how much he liked being in the sun, how much he craved it like a cat who finds the patch of watery rays and curls up inside it. Something that he’d likely never forget. _

Anyway, hyung, what do you think? 

_ He’d looked down at the top of his hair and resisted the urge that swelled to run his fingers through it.  _ About what?

What we’re going to do after high school. 

_ His heart had leapt uncomfortably at the thought they would maybe, after all this time, part ways.  _ Have you? 

Yes,  _ he’d said, and then turned quickly on his stomach to prop up his chin on his hands.  _ And do you know what I’ve decided? 

What’s that?

_ Jinyoung had smiled at him.  _ I decided that I won’t go anywhere without you, hyung. No matter what. 

_ Jaebum had felt his heart expand until it was fit to burst inside of him. Jinyoung kept on smiling, laughing that goofy laugh at what Jaebum was sure was a shocked expression–– _ hyung why do you look surprised–– _ and still hadn’t realized that this was love. He knew it was  _ something;  _ there was no way that he felt so much that eclipsed everything else and it wasn’t anything, something different, but love as a concept would not truly strike him until that day at 20 years old when he’d woken up with some poetry left fleeting in his head and had realized with a start that, yes, it had always been love. He hadn’t always had a name for it but it was there, all the same.  _

_ He had smiled–– _

Someone next to him sighs, heavy and resigned. “Jaebum?” 

It’s like waking up from a dream: he blinks his eyes slowly, wondering why it’s so dark before he realizes that the sun has gone almost completely down and he’s still wearing sunglasses. He pushes them up to his head mechanically, blinking like he’s trying to clear the memory from his eyes. Hayeon is standing next to him, her arms crossed and her back against the railing that runs along the low wall. 

“Jaebum,” she says again, trying to get his attention. He looks at her and is surprised when he can’t read the expression on her face. “Are you okay?” 

“Yes,” he says automatically, but isn’t sure if that’s true or not.

It worries him that she doesn’t look visibly angry. “Are you sure? Because you haven’t said anything for the past 20 minutes. Even when I stopped talking, you were just looking ahead and had this look on your face like you were a million miles away.”

Thought and feeling rushes back to him and his face warms in a shamed blush. He’s glad for the cover of the low light but he’s sure she sees him go red, anyway. “I’m sorry.” 

Though there’s still lots of people, they’re a standing off the direct path in the grass out of the crowd passing back and forth on the sidewalk. Before Hayeon can answer him, someone in a familiar grey hoodie cuts through the space between them and melts back into the crowd. It’s too dark now to get a good look at him; the hood of the jacket is pulled up and around their face and he just barely makes out the edge of dark sunglasses when they pass. Annoyed and slightly unnerved, Jaebum shouts  _ watch where you’re going  _ and turns back to her. 

“Maybe I should have stopped him,” Jaebum says, uncomfortable in the silence. “I could have told him to––” 

“Is this about Jinyoung?” 

Hayeon’s voice startles him, and he takes a step backward. “What?” 

But she doesn’t look angry, or even surprised. She sighs and fixes him with a knowing look. “Is this about Jinyoung?” 

“Is  _ what  _ about Jinyoung?” he asks incredulously, and he feels his heartbeat quicken. 

Hayeon motions to him vaguely. “You, acting all weird like this. I see you in the coffee shop all the time, with Jinyoung, or one of your other friends. Then you start coming in alone and looking all sad. Then you randomly ask me out even though you’d never even flirted with me before. And then,” she says, listing things off with her fingers and each one feels like a knife pushed deeper into his stomach. “We come here on this date, and even when I’d first arrived you looked distracted. I talked for ten minutes straight and you didn’t say a word, and then when I asked if you heard me, you didn’t say anything then.”

Guilt has him wishing that the earth would open up under his feet and swallow him whole. “Hayeon, I’m so sorry––”

She just makes a noise. “You know I’m not really mad, right?” 

Jaebum feels like dropping to his knees. Everything feels turned upside down. “What?”

“I’m not…” she pauses like she’s struggling to find the right words. “I’m not even mad. I kind of knew that there was no way you were into me. Like I said, you never even flirted with me before. And whenever you came in with Jinyoung, you were just––you seemed like a different person. He made you into a different person. In a good way,” she says, quickly, when she sees the pained expression on his face.

“My coworkers and I used to take bets on if you guys were dating. I said no because I knew you weren’t, because of Jackson, but everyone else was convinced.” Her voice softens. “Jaebum, if you want to be with him, then why aren’t you?” 

Jaebum feels like crying. He doesn’t deserve this, this kindness from her. He’d intentionally tried to play her, or himself, he isn’t sure, but regardless she had been caught in the crossfire. Guilt burns in his throat like unshed tears and he hates himself for what all this mess with Jinyoung has made him become. He doesn’t deserve her kindness. Sagging with defeat, he just looks at her. 

“It’s a long story. I’m so sorry, Hayeon, I––”

She quickly waves him off, looking uncomfortable with how much emotion he’s probably displaying on his face. “It’s fine, Jaebum, I was realistic with myself when you asked me out.” She reaches out to him across the space and squeezes his arm. “I’m not mad. Really. I’m not.” 

“I still shouldn’t have done it,” he says, voice strained. 

“Maybe not,” she says, and smiles at him softly. “But you still haven’t answered my question.”

Jaebum sighs. “Which one?” he asks, even though he knows.

“Why you aren’t with him.” 

“Do you really want to hear this?” 

She nods. “I think talking about it might do you some good.” 

He’s not so sure, but in the face of her being so forgiving and gentle despite him being a cowardly asshole, he doesn’t feel in the right to refuse her. Jaebum just nods. 

She grabs him by the hand to drag him to a bench. It’s a little later now; the crowd is thinning out and less people walk back and forth in front of them when they find a bench that faces away from the water and into the dimly lit park. The trees next to the lampposts send long shadows stretching across the night darkened grass and Jaebum fixates on the shape of them when they sit. 

“So,” she says, pulling her legs up underneath her to get comfortable. “Tell me.” 

_ Where do I even begin?  _ He thinks miserably, but just swallows down the bitterness and clears his throat.

“I just… I don’t even really know where it started. It feels like something that’s always just been a part of me. Our mothers knew each other when they were younger and have been best friends their whole lives. They got really lucky when they got pregnant around the same time, and they were both so excited for their children to grow up together. Jinyoung already had an older sister by then, but I’m an only child, and I think my mom was even more excited to have someone for her only baby to be close with. 

“I don’t know. There’s never been a part of my life that didn’t have Jinyoung in it. We’ve spent time away from each other, sure, like times we went to visit family or he went to visit his own family. But even our vacations were spent together sometimes, both of our families together. I don’t even know what life would have been like without Jinyoung there. 

“As for when I started being in love with him? That’s just what I mean,” he says, and looks up at her desperately. Her face is calm, eyes held in his raptly, hanging onto his every word even as he starts to choke to get them out. Movement in the shadows across from them distracts him for a moment, and he looks away, staring into the darkness as he tries to find the next words. “I don’t know when it happened. It feels like it’s always been there. Even when I didn’t really know what love was, or before I even knew I was into boys that way. I just loved him. I always have.” 

“So? He loves you, too, you know. My coworkers and I talked about it all the time when you guys would come in.” 

He doesn’t look over, eyes fixated on the long line of a shadow made by a lamppost. “That’s just it. He doesn’t. Not in the same way I love him, at least. And it’s just been...a mess. We kissed when we were fifteen. It was the first time we ever actively did anything with each other. Everything else was kind of accidental, or stuff we never really talked about…” Jaebum squints. The shadow of the lamppost has changed, growing a strange bulge on the side of it, but it’s still just a little too dark for him to see. “And so despite little things happened here and there we never talked about them again, until we were twenty, and he forced the confession out of me.”

“What do you mean?” 

He hears his own voice grow bitter. “One of our friends told him that I was in love with him and always had been. Jinyoung was a lot different after his mom died. Even though it had been three years it was still hard on him, and the day I confessed he called me over because he wasn’t feeling well. He paced around the room and I thought he was upset about his mother but he was upset at  _ me.  _ We got into a fight about it. He was so angry that I didn’t tell him how I felt. Like he thought I was keeping it from him to hurt him or something, I don’t know. I don’t understand why he was so angry.”

“I think I do,” she says, a smile in her voice, but Jaebum shakes his head.

“You think so, but it’s not like that. He’s never admitted to feeling that way about me. He dated other guys and so did I but I never really felt anything and I knew it was pointless so I stopped. Our friendship went back to normal after that but then the last couple of weeks have been so weird. We started fighting a lot, and he kept trying to...I don’t know. Seduce me? I guess? So that I wouldn’t be mad anymore. It’s hard to say why he was doing it. But I liked it. So I started doing it back, and he was so responsive, like he’s been waiting for me to make a move like that for a hundred years.” Jaebum shrugs. “One night we got drunk and hooked up and it felt like the worst mistake of my life because I knew it wouldn’t be the same after that. He got what he wanted from me and that was the end of it.” 

“Jaebum, I don’t think it’s like that––” 

“It’s hard to say,” he says, surprised at how clinically he’s been regurgitating all of this to her. His heart lays dormant and still inside his chest, unaffected now by the words. “But after we had a huge fight. We said some really awful things to each other, things I’ll regret for the rest of my life no matter how this turns out––” 

Jaebum stops short when the shadow of the lamppost suddenly grows arms. A voice, a very familiar one, reaches them when the shape loses balance and yelps as they go towards the ground. Ice forms dangerously fast around his heart as he leaps to his feet, heartbeat in his ears. Hayeon’s concerned voice sounds watery and distant behind him as his fingers curl to fists at his sides.

That familiar gray hoodie is washed out to a colorless blob as Yugyeom drops his phone when he hits the ground. The hood pushed back now, Jaebum sees the shock of his wavy brown hair and the sunglasses he’d been wearing all afternoon are lost down the back of the jacket as he attempts to quickly pull himself off the ground. Yugyeom looks up, despair clear in his face when he sees Jaebum watching him from across the sidewalk. Even with the low hum of distant people and the water lapping at the shorelines Jaebum hears the noise of fear he makes as he pushes himself to his feet. 

Hayeon shouts after him as Jaebum takes off, crossing the sidewalk in two long strides. Yugyeom has barely just turned to run off when Jaebum reaches him, hand snatching out to grab the back of his gray jacket and yank it backward. Hot rage boils over in his chest, melting the ice, flooding his veins until he feels like he’s burning from the inside out. Yugyeom whimpers when Jaebum fists his hands in the front of his jacket and shakes. 

“What the hell are you doing?” he asks, and even in the weak yellow light from the lamp Yugyeom’s eyes go wide. His voice is flat, sharper than a knife’s edge but eerily calm. “Why are you here?” 

“Hyung, I just came for a walk––”

Jaebum shakes him a little harder, barely registering Hayeon calling out to him still. Yugyeom looks terrified. “Don’t lie to me, Yugyeom.” 

“I’m not–!” 

_ “Don’t lie to me!”  _ his voice practically cracks when he shouts at him, hands fisting tighter, the threads in Yugyeom’s jacket pulled taut to the point of tearing. “Why are you here, Yugyeom?! Have you been following us all day?!” 

Yugyeom just sags and looks like he’s on the verge of tears. Jaebum knows he should calm down but he  _ can’t–– _ everything he tries to tell himself to try and reel the anger back in only disappears underneath it and suffocates until the rage swallows him back up. 

“Yes, hyung, please,” Yugyeom begs, both hands coming up to grip Jaebum’s wrists to try and pry him off. Yugyeom’s bigger than him but he’s no match for Jaebum’s anger and he only shoves half-heartedly. “I’m sorry, I’m sorry, Jinyoungie hyung asked me to come, I’m sorry, hyung, please, don’t be angry––” 

“What did you just say?” 

Yugyeom’s fingers tighten around his wrists. “Jinyoung hyung asked me to come, to check up on you guys and see how it was going––” 

A low noise rumbles in Jaebum’s chest and up his throat, a growl of anger that makes Yugyeom’s eyes go impossibly wider. “Where is he?”

Yugyeom swallows and starts trying to push Jaebum’s wrists away harder. “I don’t know, hyung––” 

The most awful feeling crawls up his throat. Had he been younger, he might have thrown Yugyeom to the ground and hit him, over and over until the rage faded. But as it is, it’s not really Yugyeom he’s angry at right now, and he holds onto this self control by a fraying thread. 

He asks again, voice low and calm and utterly dangerous. “Where is he?” 

“I don’t know,” Yugyeom moans, looking horrified, like he knows what he’s done and what’s about to come. 

“God  _ dammit Yugyeom just tell me where he is!”  _ his voice is a snarl that rips from his chest like a fishhook and he shakes Yugyeom again, gripping his jacket tighter. 

His hands lose their grip on Jaebum’s arms when he lets them drop to his sides in defeat. “He’s at home,” Yugyeom just says weakly, offering up little else. The fight has drained from him, and Jaebum lets him drop to his knees when he shoves away from him with a grunt. 

Jaebum doesn’t turn back when Hayeon calls after him, but he hears her comforting Yugyeom before he disappears around the bend. 

Rage burns in his throat like he’d drank an entire bottle of whiskey. He keeps his hands curled into fists so that he doesn’t see the way his hands shake as he goes impatiently to his car. The entire frame rattles when he slams the door, not bothering to put on a seatbelt as he throws it into reverse and lets the tires squeal deafeningly loud on the pavement of the parking lot. Everything else but the anger has a muted quality to it; the music on the radio sounds tinny and far away underneath the hideous buzzing inside his brain. His thoughts are scattered and broken like pieces of glass, sharp-edged and dangerous as he weaves his way through traffic toward Jinyoung’s house. 

At no point does it occur to him that Yugyeom could have called Jinyoung and told him that Jaebum is on his way and that he’s absolutely livid. Jinyoung could very well just not open the door: the rage drowned out his sense of logic and holds it further under still as he parks his car crookedly in the driveway and stumbles out. He leaves the car door hanging open, keys in the ignition, as he makes his way across the loose gravel driveway and thumps up the porch steps. 

He pounds a fist on the wood of the door so hard it makes his hand ache. It rattles in the frame, Jaebum’s voice nearing hoarse as he shouts Jinyoung’s name over the pounding. He’s sure the neighbors can hear him but the hysteria has driven him beyond all reason; he pounds the door harder until it shudders like it’s going to collapse inward. 

“Jinyoung!” he shouts, ceaselessly hitting the door. “Jinyoung!” 

A few moments later the door swings open wide, Jinyoung looking pale and frightened on the other side. He barely has time to say  _ Jaebum?  _ in panicked confusion before Jaebum is lurching in the door and grabbing him by the front of the shirt. Jaebum shoves him backward, reaching back to slam the door closed with one hand while the other pushes Jinyoung forward. Jinyoung shouts, stumbling, hand coming up to roughly shove Jaebum’s hand away from him when the backs of his knees hit the coffee table. 

“Jaebum!” Jinyoung shouts, shoving him backward a little so that he doesn’t fall on the table. His cheeks are already red from anger. “Jesus, Jaebum, what the hell is wrong with you?” 

Jaebum explodes. 

“What the hell is wrong with  _ me?  _ You’re asking what’s wrong with  _ me?”  _ The laugh that tears out of him is ugly and black with the absence of humor. He jabs a finger in Jinyoung’s direction. “You have the audacity to ask me that when you sent Yugyeom after me on my date to  _ spy on me?”  _

He watches with ragged breath as Jinyoung’s face drains of color. He looks horrified, the look on his face going from angry shock to guilt in the expanse of a heartbeat. “Oh, God, Jaebum––” 

“Shut up!” he screams, trying desperately to keep his hands at his sides. “Shut up! I don’t want to hear it!” 

Jinyoung nearly drops to his knees, hands clasped together. “Hyung, will you just listen for two seconds, he wasn’t supposed to actually go–”

A noise breaks off in his throat and he savagely shoves Jinyoung’s hand away when he reaches out to him. “I don’t want to hear it! Whatever bullshit excuse you have, I don’t want to hear it! How could you do that, Jinyoung? How could you do that? What are you, a teenager?” 

He watches Jinyoung straighten as some of the color returns to his face, pinking with shame and probably a little bit of anger. “I––”

“What else? Huh?” Jaebum feels his control snapping like a cut rope. “What else could you possibly do to me? I’ve been in love with you for years! For my entire life! I’ve never loved anyone but you! I gave you my first kiss, I gave you my heart, even though I didn’t want to, but because you seemed like you wanted it, you wanted to hear it, you selfish fuck. I gave you my friendship and then I gave you my body and it still wasn’t enough! Huh! _ I gave you everything!”  _

Tears well in Jinyoung’s eyes as he shoves Jaebum backward by the chest. He stumbles, catching himself on one of the recliners, standing up straight while Jinyoung’s chest heaves under his thin shirt. He’s trying not to cry but for the first time Jaebum doesn’t care; there’s a small pang somewhere deep but it gets buried in the avalanche of fury drowning his insides. 

“I never said it wasn’t enough!” 

“You don’t have to say it!” Jaebum shouts, keeping his distance and gripping the back of the chair so hard it feels like he’s going to puncture it with his blunt fingernails. “It’s in everything you do! It’s never been enough for you! Why can’t you let me be happy?”

“Because you’re  _ not  _ happy! I know you’re not!” Jinyoung’s voice breaks and the edge of it is jagged as he shouts back. “You haven’t been happy in years! Nothing I could do would help you! I tried everything, Jaebum, and the only time you looked happy was when I was riding you and then you went and ruined that, too!” 

He laughs humorlessly again and Jinyoung winces at the sound of it.  _ “I  _ ruined that? Me? I know you just wanted the sex, Jinyoung, don’t lie to my face about it being for a noble cause, ‘wanting me to be happy’. Fuck you. If you think that’s what is going to make me happy then you don’t know me at all.”

“At least I tried!” Jinyoung yanks at the bottom of his shirt in frustration. “I tried! We were fighting so much, I didn’t know what else to do! And then you started warming up to me, finally, started warming up to my advances and making some of your own. What was I supposed to do, Jaebum, tell you no?” 

“Yes!” he shouts, throwing his hands out. “Yes! We were only fighting so much because of you!” 

It’s Jinyoung’s turn to laugh.  _ “Me?  _ I’m not the one who threw a fit when I told you I had a date!” 

“You took me to the middle of the city to tell me that you were going on a date instead of just texting me like a normal person! What the fuck was I supposed to do?” 

“I don’t know,” Jinyoung snarls sarcastically. “Maybe be happy for me?” 

_ “Well I wasn’t!”  _ Jaebum practically screams at him, and his throat is raw and hurting from all the shouting. “I wasn’t happy for you! I’ve never been happy for you when you dated anyone else! But you were my best friend and I was supposed to support you so I did! And now, after everything, you can’t even do the same? You can’t do the same for me?”

“I know you don’t want it!” Jinyoung looks like he’s about to tear his hair out. The house around them is eerily silent and still while their screaming match rages on in the center of Jinyoung’s family house like a storm with no end. “I know you’re just trying to forget about me!”

“You’ve already made it clear that  _ you  _ don’t! So why? Jinyoung, why?” His voice is reduced to desperate begging. “Why won’t you let me forget?”

“I don’t want you to,” he says, voice quivering, face red and splotchy and shimmering with tears. 

Jaebum growls low in his throat and crouches down, tearing at his hair. Emotion boils inside him, and he stands back up with a barely controlled wrath contained in his body. 

“You don’t get it! You just don’t get it, do you? You can’t have it all! I already gave you everything, Jinyoung! I gave you everything I had! And it wasn’t enough for you that you had to try and take this, too? Huh?” 

“I never asked for those things!” Jinyoung screams at him, cracking at the end with fresh tears that chase each other down his face. 

“Then what do you want?!” Jaebum screams back, louder, distantly aware that at any moment someone’s probably going to call the cops on them. But it has to end here, no matter what that means, and he won’t leave until it’s over. 

There is no hesitation.  _ “You! Idiot! I want you!”  _ Jinyoung’s knuckles are white where they’re buried deep in his hair and for the first time tonight he’s actually a little worried Jinyoung’s going to hurt himself. “God, Jaebum, how can you be so blind?” 

“To what? I’ve never been blind! I’ve always known you were selfish! But I kept loving you anyway, giving you what you wanted, kept on feeling the way I do about you even though it’s going to kill me someday!”

“You don’t get it!” 

“Don’t get  _ what?”  _ he asks desperately, shouting, fingers laced behind his head and pushing because he doesn’t know what else to do. “What don’t I get, Jinyoung?” 

Where he had thought the hysteria had peaked, it only climbs higher as Jinyoung makes a broken noise and reaches down to grip the empty glass sitting innocuously on the coffee table. Jaebum hears the glass crack underneath Jinyoung’s fingers even before he twists, arm wound back and then Jaebum is stunned into silence when the cup shatters against the far wall away from them both. Shards rain down like glass tears as Jinyoung turns back to him and screams as loud as he possibly can. 

_ “That I love you! I love you! I love you, Jaebum, and I always have!”  _

Silence. Utter and deafening silence descends on them in the wake of Jinyoung’s words. Jinyoung stands across from him, heaving in great, awful sobs that wrack his smaller frame. The cardigan he’s wearing slips off a shoulder, and Jinyoung doesn’t reach up to pull it back. Agony rips across the front of him like a knife; his chest pressed in and feeling like it’s going to cave in and crush his heart with the pressure. 

“I don’t believe you,” he says finally, and Jinyoung stiffens. 

“You don’t  _ believe me?”  _

“Why should I? After all you’ve done. After everything, why should I believe you when you say you love me?” 

“Everything I’ve done is because I love you!” Jinyoung shouts. “Everything, I tried everything, I was so scared of something happening that I kept you at arm’s length for years––”

“You’ve got to be kidding me––”

“Shut up! Shut up! I was scared! You said that you loved me but I never saw any evidence of it! You never acted like you loved me any more than you would love a brother! The first time I thought maybe was that night we kissed when we were fifteen but even then it was like it was nothing to you! And then Yugyeom told me you had always been in love with me and you admitted it, but I still had nothing! I had nothing, Jaebum! I had your confession but nothing else! You never acted like you loved me any more than just your friend!” 

Jaebum makes a disgusted noise in the back of his throat. “I’m not going to listen to this,” he barks, and he turns sharply to head for the door. But Jinyoung catches him by the arm and spins him.

“What was I supposed to think, Jaebum? All these years you apparently loved me but I had nothing to show for it! Nothing! What was I supposed to do? Just tell you I loved you, too? When I didn’t even know if you really loved me, or if you were just saying it?”

“Let go,” Jaebum says dangerously, biting his lip. An ache has started up in his heart and he doesn’t know how much more he can listen to. 

Jinyoung doesn’t push him away; instead he grabs the front of Jaebum’s shirt with both hands and yanks. He knows what’s coming and he should shove Jinyoung away but he doesn’t. He just lets Jinyoung grip the front of his shirt and pull him forward, Jinyoung’s eyes squeezed shut as their mouths connected with a painful noise. Their teeth click and Jinyoung gasps as the sharp points of Jaebum’s canine slices his bottom lip. Jaebum kisses back, pressing against his mouth hard, his tongue commanding where it pushes into Jinyoung’s mouth. Jinyoung makes a noise, pulling Jaebum closer, the kiss violent and aching where their hands turn to fists in each other’s clothes. Their lips slide together with wetness, breathing heavily into each other’s mouths; the shared inhale exhale of anger and pain as it passes between them. Jinyoung’s tongue slides against his own, his head tilting for a better angle. Fire singes his lips and tongue with every kiss, his knuckles white where he’s gripping the edges of Jinyoung’s cardigan. Twenty-four years of feeling passes between their lips, years of pent up rage and confusion and desperation as Jinyoung moans his name. Something breaks off inside him, sharp and uncomfortable when he breathes. He nips Jinyoung’s bottom lip and relishes in the pained noise he makes as he’s sure this is the last time he’s ever going to hear it. 

He shoves Jinyoung away, chest heaving with anger and something else. “I don’t believe you. There’s never been any proof that you love me. I’m tired of this game, Jinyoung-ah. I played it for years and years because I love you and I’ve never loved anyone but you and I thought that maybe there would come a time when you’d love me, too. But I should have known it would never be that way. That you’d only ever want the sex, and then I stupidly gave you that, too.”

Jaebum feels something sever, a sweet disconnect as the numbness spreads from the center of his chest the way he’d imagine blood would spread from a gunshot like blooming poppies. Jinyoung’s face absolutely crumples with tears, but there is nothing, only cold. “You had one of our friends spy on my date because you didn’t want anyone else to have me, but that’s not love. That's not because you love me. It's because you’re selfish. And you’ve always been selfish.”

Jaebum grips the doorknob, ready to repeat their last fight, where he closes the door and they don’t see each other for a long time. This time he thinks _maybe it’s forever._

Jinyoung hiccups through his tears, wiping away the thin trail of blood on his chin from his split lip. “And you’ve always been a liar, hyung.” 

The door opens under his hand. Cold wind rushes in through the gap but he hardly feels it, already freezing on the inside. They hold each other’s eyes, even as Jinyoung’s are blurry and glittering with tears. The cord between them that has been holding them to each other since before their births frays between them.

“So have you, Jinyoungie,” he says, voice soft with finality. He goes outside.  
  
The door, when it slams shut, sounds an awful lot like the snapping of a red thread. 


	10. x. sleeping sickness

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i know...i updated so soon....huhuhuhu
> 
> per my own wants but also some requests... a chapter from jy's POV <3 
> 
> i looked over it but alas it's 1am here so i might have missed things T^T 
> 
> love you! enjoy <3

**J I N Y O U N G**

 

There is a split second where he considers chasing Jaebum out the door, but when it slams and rattles in the frame he knows there is no use. He knows that it would play out like a stereotypical scene from a drama: he'd run out the door, leaving it open behind him, making it to the edge of the porch just in time to see Jaebum wiping an arm across his eyes while the back of his car fishtails as he speeds away. Then Jinyoung would fall to his knees and cover his face with shaking hands and cry. Something like that. Etcetera, etcetera. 

Instead, he just cleans up the glass with his bare hands. A distant part of himself is glad that his sister doesn't live here and that his father is away on business. How could he explain what just happened? There are no words, he thinks, that could ever encapsulate the horror he'd just dragged them both through. It is better, then, that he experiences this alone. 

The glass tore some of the wallpaper where he'd thrown it. The pieces on the ground are small and jagged, little see-through versions of his heart crushed into the carpet. He picks them up with his fingers and doesn't cry out or make noise when they dig into his hands; he blinks at the blood that wells around invisible slices in his fingertips and collects all the shards in an open palm. The bigger pieces he saves for last, coming back for them once he'd slowly let the crushed up glass rain from his hand and into the trash, mesmerized by the way they glittered with the ruby red tint of his blood. It doesn't move him like he thought it would; he thought he'd find some comfort in the poetic symbolism of his blood on the shattered glass. But it does nothing for him, and the other pieces are dumped unceremoniously on top to be thrown away. 

Another ten minutes pass in the buzzing silence where he stands in the living room. His eyes are on the chair that Jaebum had been gripping in one angry hand, four discolored dents in the fabric, but he's not really looking at it. Everything seems so out of focus, every sound muted and unintelligible under the constant rush of blood in his ears. 

_ It's so hard to hear when your heart is breaking,  _ he thinks to himself, and chokes on a humorless laugh.

He goes to bed and lays down to stare at the ceiling. There is nothing left to do but think.   
  
  


*

 

Somewhere along the way, he had started to notice that Jaebum was  _ different.  _

Different from himself, of course, in plenty of ways. Growing up Jinyoung had always been more of a sporty type; loud and rambunctious he was eager to kick footballs out from under the feet of his opponents. Jaebum had always been a little more content to watch from the sidelines, though his definition of watching had always been loose; it was more so that he enjoyed reading in the shade and not watching at all. But Jinyoung was never bothered by this. With almost little to no goading at all, Jaebum would be throwing his book to the grass and coming at him with surprising speed.

They spent a lot of summers together at the football pitches with their school friends or at the pool. Jinyoung remembers that Jaebum had always been a little bit more fond of the pool; something about losing himself for a moment underneath the blanket of water seemed to calm him in some way or another. It would, as Jinyoung would years later describe it to him drunk on the hood of a car in the middle of the country,  _ douse the fire in his eyes that never went out.  _ Jaebum had hit him a little too hard, laughing;  _ there was never fire in my eyes to begin with, Jinyoung-ah, maybe you just imagined it.  _

He knew (knows? Now he’s not so sure) Jaebum better than he knew himself. It was there, the fire, and it burned. Brighter than a falling star.

He had tried, many times, to try and describe it to him after that. But the words never seemed to come, and when they did, they weren’t right. How could he describe someone like Jaebum with words that wouldn’t diminish everything that he embodied? The strength, the passion, the brains. The unselfish way he offered himself up to his mother whenever she needed him in the cafe that his parents owned, regardless of other arrangements he had made. The protectiveness in which he had guarded both Jinyoung  _ and  _ his sister with, that ever burning fire growing white-hot and scalding when people turned ugly and mean. The way that he’d soften around all the edges he had seemed to sharpen during adolescence that, once they hit seventeen and right before his mother had died, he was afraid to cut himself on, when he’d see a stray cat in the road. Where there even words to describe the feeling that caught and dragged in Jinyoung’s chest like a fishhook when he looked at Jaebum’s face in those moments? Park JInyoung, self-determined poet, and he had lain awake at night for years trying to think if there were any words for him; if there was a word that could encapsulate everything he felt when even the slightest brush of Jaebum’s fingers against his skin sent lightning through his blood.

But, of course, there had been. There had always been. 

_ Love.  _

The word had always been there for him, but he’d been too afraid to reach for it. 

  
  


*

 

_ “Mom,” he whined, fourteen and petulant. “How long can Jaebum hyung stay over?”  _

_ Jinyoung’s mother had looked over at Jaebum’s mother, sitting across from them both at the table. Jaebum’s mother glance up and shrugged. “He can stay the night, if he wants to. That’s up to you, though, unnie.”  _

_ His mother had turned to him. “We’ll see. We’ll be a while, anyway. Go watch a movie or play video games or something, and when we’re done we’ll see if Jaebum wants to stay over. Okay?” _

_ It wasn’t really the answer he wanted, but it was better than no. He sighed. “Okay.”  _

_ His mother leaned over to kiss his cheek, which he quickly wiped off with a disgusted noise. The two women laughed at his reaction, and Jinyoung had retreated back to his room with his hair in his eyes and the embarrassment slowly slipping from his face. _

_ When he’d opened the door, Jaebum hadn’t been looking at him. He’d been looking around the room, at posters and drawings he’d seen a thousand times. Jinyoung waited for a moment, watching the side of his face with a sort of awe that made that nervous feeling rise in his chest again. Jinyoung had pushed the door all the way open, then, and Jaebum had turned.  _

_ Jaebum’s face had seemed troubled when he looked over. At first it had been the smoothed out calm of no emotion, but when their eyes had met, something about Jaebum’s face had turned dark and serious. Jinyoung had felt the way his own face fell to match. “Hyung? What’s wrong?”  _

_ “Nothing,” Jaebum had said, but Jinyoung knew better. He’d always been an awful liar. He probably always would be.  _

_ Pushing the hair away from his face, Jinyoung had raised an eyebrow. “Are you sure? You look nervous.” _

_ But Jaebum had laughed, shaking most of the troubled look from his face. But not all. “Why would I be nervous, Jinyoung-ah?” _

_ Jinyoung had shrugged. Jaebum hadn’t ever been a good actor; the combination of being a shitty liar and a shittier actor meant that Jinyoung could always see right through him whenever he was trying at either. But he had seemed, for the most part, to be truthful. “I dunno. Anyway, our moms are going to be a while. What do you want to do?”  _

_ Jaebum had put his hand on his chin, fingertip placed delicately beneath the swell of his bottom lip. Jinyoung wished he hadn’t; he couldn’t look away from it, fixated on the perfect stretch of skin with that tiny little pocket of baby fat still underneath it that, much to Jinyoung’s relief, would never quite go away. Jinyoung had shoved his hands in his pockets and felt the pulse point in his throat beat with the unsteady rhythm of his heart. Jaebum continued to pretend to think and Jinyoung just kept thinking, kept thinking of all the time he’d watched Jaebum like this and felt something similar but hadn’t really understood what it meant. How, after many dreams, he did understand at that point. It was want, the undercurrent of some undefinable feeling ( _ love, love, or whatever, take a number  _ he would read much later in a book of poetry and wish he had had it then) humming in his veins.  _

_ His voice had still been high pitched then, but in the silence of the room it was obvious how he dropped it and made it silkier around the edges. “Do you want to watch a movie?” _

_ Jaebum had looked surprised. His hand had dropped, and his bottom lip parted from the top one like he was going to say something else. But they’d just looked at each other, the atmosphere shifting slowly but surely. “In here?”  _

_ Jinyoung had nodded at the bookcase behind him with the little television mounted on it. “Yeah. Why not?”  _

_ “Okay,” Jaebum had responded, and quickly crossed his arms. Jinyoung had swallowed––somehow in the small expanse of their conversation, the room had become dense with an awkward silence. He’d turned, listening to the way Jaebum had stood for just a moment before moving and laying down heavily on his bed. _

_ “Here we go,” he’d said, and had barely glanced over to see Jaebum looking in the opposite direction. His heart had fluttered anxiously in his chest, but he’d tamped it down with determination and crawled up on his bed. Jaebum had remained still as he adjusted, throwing his leg over Jaebum’s the way he’d done a thousand times. Strange, then, how it should have been making him so nervous.  _

_ The film played on as they’d laid there, slowly sinking into one another until Jinyoung had his head rested on Jaebum’s thin chest. Even without looking he could feel how broad Jaebum was already becoming, shoulders growing outward instead of up, making him broad and narrow-hipped and strong. Jinyoung was still skinny, his arm wrapped around Jaebum’s waist. Jinyoung kept glancing away from the screen, down at the stretch of Jaebum’s legs, the small curve in the thighs toward his knees, or to where his arm was dangerously close to the crotch of Jaebum’s jeans, or where Jaebum’s fingers rested nonchalantly on his shoulder. The sudden uprising of want and need and desperation had him fidgeting in place, unsure what to do since the energy had nowhere to go.  _

_ He’d felt Jaebum’s fingers leave his shoulder to tap impatiently on his head. “Yah, Jinyoung-ah. Sit still, would you?” _

_ Jinyoung had felt the thickness in his throat and knew he’d never be able to talk around it. “Sorry.”  _

_ Jaebum shook him lightly. “Are you alright?”  _

_ It burned. It burned, how badly he needed it, how badly he needed to know if Jaebum had ever even considered kissing a boy, if there was ever any chance that Jaebum would want to kiss  _ him.  _ His voice was a sigh where it fluttered from his mouth anxiously, sitting up and pulling away to run a hand through his hair.  _

_ “Hyung...can I ask you something?”  _

_ “Sure, Jinyoungie,” he’d replied, and his voice was the agonizing neutral of a best friend. _

_ “Have you ever…” and where their eyes had been meeting before, Jinyoung couldn’t bear to look at him anymore. He’d felt his face go red with shame, and he watched his hands on the bed as he breathed in and gathered the courage to ask. “Have you ever thought about kissing a boy?” _

_ Jinyoung didn’t need to look up to know what look was on Jaebum’s face. He’d heard the swallowed gasp of surprise and watched Jaebum’s fingers curl into his sheets.  _

_ Shame flooded him hot and fast. “Forget it––”  _

_ “Jinyoung-ah.” His voice was commanding. “Have  _ you  _ thought about kissing a boy?”  _

_ The incredulous way he’d asked made his hackles rise. Their eyes met for a heartbeat and then he’d looked away again, too afraid of what he’d say. “Obviously, stupid, that’s why I’m asking.  _

_ “I––”  _

_ Jaebum had petered off, unsure how to finish. Jinyoung just kept staring down, feeling horrible for asking, his stomach in knots and his mouth feeling like it was full of rocks. Jaebum’s breathing had gotten more unsteady, fingertips whitening as he gripped the sheets. _

_ “Yeah, I have.”  _

_ Jinyoung had looked up, utterly shocked that Jaebum had said yes. He’d been gearing himself for the fall in the silence, waiting for Jaebum to tell him that, no, he hadn’t, and that it wasn’t natural, and that Jinyoung shouldn’t ask him that again. But Jaebum had said yes, if a little unsteadily, and the feeling of shame had washed from him. “Hyung, really? You have? It’s not just me?”  _

_ “No…” and he’d looked a little awkward, but not disgusted. “Um, why?”  _

_ “I just…” Jinyoung had always been good with words, but in this instance they eluded him. He’d heaved a heavy sigh, hand coming up to draw circles in the material of Jaebum’s shirt bunched at his waist. How could he explain that he’d been dreaming of him lately? That he’d been having dreams of their mouths together and their hands between each other’s legs, moaning each other’s names, that had him waking up in wet sheets? It felt like a dirty secret, one that he’d rather die than tell Jaebum about, despite them being closer than anyone else. So he’d lied instead, omitting the whole truth and only offering some: _

_ “I’ve been thinking about it lately. Sometimes I dream about it, and I wake up––” he thought of all the times Jaebum’s moan had been the last thing he’d heard upon waking and laughed nervously. “You know.”  _

_ “Yeah, I know.”  _

_ He’d been relieved, at the very least. He’d tried to avoid letting himself think if Jaebum ever had dreams about other boys that weren’t him. “Do you think you’ll ever do it?”  _

_ “What, kiss a boy?”  _

_ He’d nodded, wondering if, just maybe, this could happen to them. “Yeah.”  _

_ Jaebum had swallowed, suddenly looking nervous. His dark eyes had flitted away, uncomfortable. “Well, I don’t know––” _

It’s now or never, Jinyoungie,  _ he’d told himself, and took a deep breath.  _

_ “Do you want to try it with me, hyung?”  _

_ Jinyoung had looked into his eyes when he’d asked, waiting until Jaebum had looked back at him. The silence that fell across them like a heavy blanket was pregnant with tension. Jaebum had looked away again, down at his knees, and Jinyoung just kept looking at his face. Wondered where this was going to take them; their mothers had been just down the hall and it sent a thrill chasing down his spine.  _

_ “I trust you, hyung,” he’d said, not meaning to, not wanting to sound like he was begging. But he meant it and he didn’t take it back, scooting up to press their shoulders together again. “If I’m going to try kissing a boy, I want it to be you.” _

_ Jaebum’s eyes had closed, and Jinyoung had been worried that he was pushing too hard; he was ready to back off and drop it and never speak of it again. It wouldn’t be the first time. But Jaebum had just asked, “why?” _

_ “Because we’re best friends, hyung. And we will be forever, so I want my first time to be with someone that I’ll never hate and it will be a good memory.” _

_ His dark eyes had opened, naked emotion inside of them, but he’d been too young to understand it then. All he could understand that Jaebum had turned his head, lips starting to part like he had something to say, but then Jinyoung was leaping across the great unknown to press their lips together. _

_ A shock had torn through him when their lips brushed, soft at first, and only once. Something yawns awake inside him, a desire, an incessant hunger that would claw at him for years and years until Jinyoung could finally climb into Jaebum’s bed with him. Jinyoung had leaned in again, pressing their mouths together harder. Jaebum had cupped his face, fingertips pressed into his jaw in a way that made his mouth open and had his tongue sliding out to taste Jaebum’s lips. He’d been surprised and parted them with a gasp; Jinyoung had groaned unwillingly as he’d slid his tongue in his mouth and felt in his stomach the way Jaebum’s breathing had quickened. _

_ Hands tightened in clothes, slid to hips and necks and hair, but never sneaking below the belt like Jinyoung so badly wanted. But he’d already been given this, Jaebum’s willing kiss, and he wouldn’t ruin it by pushing him to a place that he wasn’t ready to go. They had kissed for a long time, thirty minutes straight, biting gently and exploring and touching. Jinyoung had made all kinds of noise; later when Jaebum had gone without looking him in his eyes he’d lay awake and be embarrassed of it. The kiss had lasted a lifetime in his eyes, and Jaebum hadn’t once pulled away, and there had been that small flicker of hope in his chest that, just maybe, the feeling in his heart would be returned. _

_ But then they both heard their mothers coming down the hall and they’d sprung apart quickly, panting like dogs. Jinyoung had wiped across his mouth with a forearm, staring heavily at Jaebum’s kiss swollen mouth, wishing he could have it again, over and over. Jaebum had quickly stood up when his mother knocked, calling to him that it was time to go. He couldn’t say, she said, because he’d had an appointment the next day that she’d forgotten about, but if Jinyoung wanted to come sleep over that weekend, he could.  _

_ They’d said their goodbyes privately, around the corner from where their mothers stood at the door and talked. Jaebum had looked down at him, noticeably taller but not for long. Jinyoung felt the way his heart had squeezed, unable to read him. _

_ “Hyung––” _

_ “Jinyoung-ah,” was all he had said, a hundred years of longing in his 15 year old voice, and he’d leaned down to gently kiss his mouth again. Jinyoung gripped the front of his shirt to hold him in place, silently begging him not to go, and he’d felt Jaebum’s fingers wrap around his wrist gently with a spark. He pulled his hand away slow, his mouth lingering over Jinyoung’s like he’d been reluctant to pull away when his mother had called his name. But he’d hesitated nonetheless, and Jinyoung would remember it always. _

_ “Come on, Jaebummie,” his mother had called, and then he’d pulled away for good. The kiss would never come back, and they’d never speak of it again until years later, when it would be just another wound to dig their fingers into.  _

 

* 

 

It’s funny how differently people remember things.

 

* 

 

He sleeps like shit the night of their blow-up, and he’s irritable the next morning when he wakes up. This doesn’t bode well for whoever is knocking loudly at his front door, and he throws on a shirt when he goes to answer it. 

“It’s barely 11 in the morning, what the hell––” 

Yugyeom shoves his way in the door past him, and Jinyoung grunts when he steps back. He immediately recalls the way Jaebum had shoved past him the night before, and it makes him bristle when he closes the door. 

“Why are you here?” 

Yugyeom spins on his heel, looking absolutely miserable. His face is pale, dark shadows under his eyes like he hasn’t been sleeping. Jinyoung feels a pang of sadness in his chest; despite not knowing what actually transpired between them in the park, he knows the force of Jaebum’s anger well, and he knows that Yugyeom is weakest to it, and that it always hurts him the most. He also knows, very intimately, how sleepless it can make someone. 

“Hyung, listen to me, it was an accident––” 

“God, Yugyeom, are you  _ crazy?”  _ the weight of it finally hits him and he sags against the door. Yugyeom just looks even more miserable. “I wasn’t that serious about you going.” 

“You sounded serious!” he says, and it’s clear that, despite being upset, he’s angry, too. “How was I supposed to know that you didn’t actually want me to go?” 

“I thought it’d be obvious!” he shoots back, starting to feel sick to his stomach. “We’re 24 years old, Yugyeom, I thought you’d know that I was joking.” 

“It didn’t sound like a joke, hyung,” he spits, turning to sit heavily on the couch and put his head in his hands. “You said, ‘go watch him on his date. Make sure nothing happens, and if it does, text me. Don’t get caught.’ Those were your directions, hyung, do you see how that doesn’t sound like a joke?” 

His eyes close on a heavy sigh. Yugyeom is right––it really _doesn’t_ sound like a joke, and, though he’d maybe put too much hope in their resident 19 year old to not take something like that seriously, Yugyeom does have a point. He shouldn’t have said it at all. 

The carpet makes soft noises underneath his feet when he comes over to sit next to Yugyeom on the couch. “I get it. I’m sorry.” 

Yugyeom sighs, dark hair swishing when he turns his head in his palms to look over. “It’s not your fault.” 

“It is,” Jinyoung says, and his heart contracts painfully at the hurt so clearly ingrained in Yugyeom’s handsome face. They’d done this, hadn’t they? Both of them? In the constant tug of war between them, they’d worn their friends so thin. “It’s my fault, and it’s his, too.” 

“I wish you’d stop fighting,” Yugyeom whispers, eyes wet. Jinyoung’s heart takes a steep dive. 

“Fighting is just what we do,” he tries to joke, but even to his own ears it sounds sad and too close to the truth to be funny. He swallows instead. 

“You know, I’ve never seen him look so angry,” Yugyeom mutters, turning to look back at the floor. The heels of his hands dig into his temples. “I really thought he was going to hit me, hyung. I’ve never been scared of him much, but I was scared of him then.” 

Jinyoung can’t think of a time where he’d ever been scared  _ of  _ Jaebum. He places a hand on Yugyeom’s back and tries to rub the tension out of it. “He would never hit you, Yugyeom. Maybe if he was younger, he would have. But he’s changed a lot from the kind of people we were when we were your age, and even younger than that. He never would hurt you on purpose.” 

Yugyeom sniffles. “I know. But I was also scared he would hurt you, with how angry he was. All he wanted to know was where you were, and he kept shaking me and asking me until I told him.” a hand strays from his temple to wipe childishly at his eyes. “I felt so bad for telling him, but I couldn’t even warn you. I dropped to the ground when he let me go and Hayeon noona came to comfort me. I wasn’t just scared for me, hyung, I was scared he’d hurt you, too.” 

_ He’s hurt me more than you can imagine, Yugyeomie.  _ Instead, he says, “he wouldn’t hurt me, either.” 

The look on Yugyeom’s face when he looks over says that he knows that’s not true, but neither of them address it. He sniffles again and asks,

“Did you guys fight?” 

Jinyoung’s hand stills where it had been rubbing circles on his back and he pulls it into his lap. Jinyoung glances over at the wall, hearing the glass shattering like a faint echo in his ears. “Yes. We did.” 

“What happened?” 

He sighs. 

“He showed up pounding on the door, screaming for me. I was worried something happened, because I had no idea you’d actually went, and I assumed that something terrible had happened to him or to her or to one of you guys. But when I opened the door, he grabbed me by the shirt and started pushing me backward. I was pissed, because I had no idea what his problem was. He kept pushing me until I hit the coffee table and finally shoved him back. I made the mistake of asking him what the hell was wrong with him, though, because then he started screaming. 

“I was horrified after he told me what happened. He blamed me immediately for sending you after them on his date, and god, he was so  _ mad–– _ I tried to get him to understand that you never were supposed to go and that it wasn’t your fault, but he barely let me talk. He lost control on me. I’ve never heard him talk like that.”

“What did he say?” 

Jinyoung doesn’t think he’ll ever forget for the rest of his life. He repeats the words verbatim: 

“‘What else could you possibly do to me? I’ve been in love with you for years! For my entire life! I’ve never loved anyone but you! I gave you my first kiss, I gave you my heart, even though I didn’t want to, but because you seemed like you wanted it, you wanted to hear it, you selfish fuck.’” Jinyoung laughs bitterly. “Then he said, ‘I gave you my friendship and then I gave you my body and it still wasn’t enough! Huh! I gave you everything!’”

He can’t bear to see whatever look is on Yugyeom’s face, so he just keeps staring at the floor. Yugyeom takes a deep breath. “Wow.” 

“Yeah.”

“So what happened after?” 

“I told him that I loved him, in the end,” Jinyoung says, and the agony of the fight just threatens to drag him under again. His heart snags on the jagged pieces and his breath hitches with unshed tears. But he’d fallen asleep in the ocean of them that he’d made on his pillow and his eyes stay dry for now. “But he didn’t believe me.” 

Yugyeom’s head snaps up. “He didn’t  _ believe you?”  _

“No,” Jinyoung says, and the pain is palpable. It winds around his neck like a rope and pulls. “He didn’t.” 

“What––what did you say? How could he not? He’s been waiting to hear it for years!” 

Jinyoung shrugs, the effort of even lifting and dropping a shoulder heavy with the weight of his grief. “I told him that...That I’ve always been afraid. That I’d never had any concrete proof that he loved me, even when I made him confess to me when we were twenty. He said he loved me, and he said it wasn’t a lie, but I had nothing to show for it. He treated me like he always did, like I was his younger brother and his best friend. There was never any difference in the way he acted around me, except when we were fighting. The only thing I could think to do was aggravate it. The only time I ever saw that he might love me is when we were fighting about how he feels about me.” 

“Oh, hyung,” Yugyeom murmurs, and it’s unfair how devastated he sounds. Jinyoung just swallows.

“I kissed him before he left. It felt––” his voice breaks, and it’s Yugyeom’s turn to gently pat his back as his eyes well up with tears. “It felt like dying. The way he kissed me back like it was the last time.

“Then he pushed me away, and he said that he’s tired of playing this game with me. Said that I did everything I’ve ever done not because I love him, but because I’m selfish. And that I’ve always been selfish.”

“Hyung…”

“And he called me a liar, too,” he says, and sniffles over a broken laugh. He lifts the bottom of his shirt to dry the tears that streak down his cheeks. “He called me a liar.”

“You don’t really think that he thinks that about you, do you, hyung?”

The smile he gives Yugyeom through the tears feels like an open wound ripping across his face. “When have I ever made him feel any differently?” 

 

*

 

_ The summer after 17, when Jaebum was already 18 and Jinyoung was on his way there. It was the first time he’d been able to laugh since his mother had died. _

_ “Jinyoungie!” Jaebum had crowed, pouncing off the diving board and doing a somersault into the water. Jinyoung had laughed, throwing an arm across his eyes to guard it against the pool water that exploded outward from the splash. The cold droplets hit his sun-warmed skin and he sighed happily.  _

_ Jaebum had swam under the water toward him, the ripples on the surface making him blurry and disconnected like a watercolor painting left in the rain. The glittering aquamarine of the pool water was heavenly overlaid against the tan skin of his back; 18 and filling out he was bigger than he had been the summer before and more handsome, too. Jinyoung’s heart was weak and his eyes drank up every last inch of Jaebum’s body that wasn’t covered by his swim trunks.  _

_ His head had broken the surface then, water cascading down his face in droplets that chased trails down his cheeks like tears. Jaebum had run a hand through his dark hair, pushing it back, infinitely innocent and sexier than he could ever imagine. Jinyoung’s head had swam with wonder and want; delirium soaked through his skin like sun rays. Jaebum had rested his chin on the rough side of the pool, dark eyes watching him where he sat cross-legged by the water. _

_ “What’re you thinking about, Jinyoungie?”  _

_ “You,” he’d said, and meant it. _

_ “Are you happy?”  _

_ He didn’t know. Death had shown his face early, snatching his mother from him in the middle of the night with no warning except the one, pained cry. Grief threw shadows over his heart like nightmares, and the cards he’d been playing were yanked from his hands and forced back in the deck for a shuffle. Anything could come out of them, then, couldn’t they? If his mother could go as easily as she had, who was to say that Jaebum wouldn’t go, either? The thought of it alone had tears welling up in his eyes. _

_ “Yah,” Jaebum had said, and he’d lifted himself from the water. Jinyoung only looked down at his bare chest where water rushed away from him as he balanced himself on his arms. His face above Jinyoung’s but angled down and close enough that Jaebum’s warm breath chilled the water that dripped on his neck from his chin. “Don’t cry, Jinyoungie. It’s okay. I’m sorry I asked.” _

_ Jaebum’s proximity made blood rush in his ears. His arms were tan and strong where they were planted by his knees, straining to keep himself up. Jinyoung’s heart thumped painfully in his chest, half sluggish with the grief that threatened to drown him the way he’d imagine holding his own head under the crystal clear water. Jaebum’s chest was dotted with goosebumps, cold water and warm air raising them on his unmarked skin as he breathed quietly. In, and out.  _

_ Everything was a mess. His heart was bruised and aching from losing his mother but Jaebum made it feel full, smoothing out the jagged edges with his words. His body felt like it was being torn in two, half ready to give up and die if he was expected to live without his mother and half of it was yearning, desperate to stretch out under the length of Jaebum’s and feel two hands on him, alive and well. He felt like a disgrace for wanting something so earnestly when her death was still a festering open wound in his chest, and he couldn’t help but wonder if it was the grief that made him want Jaebum so badly or if it was just amplified by the way it made him realize that nothing lasts forever.  _

_ He’d tipped his head back, then, perfectly positioned underneath Jaebum’s so that the water that dripped off his face made new tear tracks down Jinyoung’s cheeks and hid the ones he’d made himself. “I just don’t want you to go anywhere, hyung.”  _

_ Jaebum had laughed, then, gently. “Where do you think I could go if you couldn’t follow?” _

_ He didn’t know. He didn’t want to find out.  _

_ “Nowhere, Jinyoungie,” he’d said, answering his own question because he knew Jinyoung wouldn’t. “I won’t go anywhere if you can’t follow me.”  _

_ He’d only had time to inhale before Jaebum was jumping back. A firm hand had gripped his ankle and yanked, dragging him into the pool and under. The rush of water in his ears replaced that of the uncertain blood and even through the blurry chlorine veil Jaebum had been the most wonderful thing he’d ever seen. In that moment he had been sure that they’d never be without each other.  _

_ Under the water with Jaebum’s hands on his hips and holding him tight, he thought about the kiss, and of how desperately he wanted another one. He thought terribly and wonderfully about how he only wanted them for the rest of his life.  _

_ How he had thought, then, that maybe, despite thinking Jaebum couldn't ever love him that way, that day would come.  _

_ Maybe. _

 

*

 

The best lesson he never learned until it was too late is that life never goes the way you want it to.

 

 


	11. xi. eventually

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so......this update is a liiiittttle shorter than the rest but...i think that's best for emotional impact 
> 
> <3

**J I N Y O U N G**

 

The November air is bitter where the wind bites at his face as he walks toward a coffee place to sit by himself a while. His heart aches, a low dull throb in the center of his chest. He pulls his jacket tighter around himself, struggling for a warmth he knows he won't find. But the coat, once belonging to Jaebum, feels like all he has left.

It's been a couple weeks since their blowup. They haven't talked. Jinyoung stopped going to their shared class, because he couldn't bear the thought of sitting next to that empty seat again. Something about coming into the room and looking at the space that Jaebum used to occupy before they both fucked it all up just makes his chest ache. He can barely focus on breathing properly, let alone trying to read a book entirely in English and analyzing it.

But as the two weeks passed, he realized that staying inside his house all day wasn't helping, either. Everywhere in his room was a reminder of Jaebum; the house where he lives is the one he's lived in for all his life, and memories of Jaebum are stained all over the walls and floor like stubborn blood. No matter how hard he tried to scrub them away they just won't come out.

His father had come home in between the weeks that Jinyoung had stopped going to class and stopped picking up people’s calls. He remembers the way his father had come into his room without knocking, a habit from years that Jinyoung knows he'd refuse to change. He'd seen his father’s face in between the door and the wall covered in ripped out poems from books and magazines and had started to cry. The briefcase his father had been holding made a dull thudding sound on the hardwood floor when he'd dropped it, coming into the room to pull Jinyoung into a hug.

“Why are you crying?” he'd asked. His father had always been a stone wall; his voice was clear of worry but Jinyoung had felt it in the way his arms tightening around his shoulders.

“I lost Jaebum hyung,” he'd cried, hands over his face even though he'd leaned against his father's shoulder.

“What do you mean? Jinyoung-ah,” and his father had pulled away a little to look at his face after pulling his hands away by the wrists. “Don't cry so hard. You're going to make yourself sick.”

But the tears wouldn't stop. He'd felt his face crumble into agony. “I hurt him so much, dad. He hurt me, too, but I think I hurt him so much worse. I destroyed everything.”

"Yah, Jinyoung-ah, what do you mean? Talk to me." 

But it was so hard. The words wanted to come, he wanted to open his mouth and pour out everything in his heart, but they got stuck somewhere in his throat before they dissolved into tears. His father had just waited, hands away from his wrists and back on his shoulders as Jinyoung took great shuddering breaths and tried to talk. 

"Dad, I know you don't like to talk about it, but he was in love with me. He always has been, since we were kids. I know I told you, once, after I found out and he didn't come over for a while. But, dad––I love him, too." 

He had wanted to fall down and die. Saying it aloud to someone besides himself for the first time made it so real––tangible and covered in the blood of the mess he'd made, but tangible nonetheless.

Jinyoung had looked up at the low humming noise his father made. "I knew that."

"I just––wait, what?" 

His father moved his hands into his lap. "You really thought we didn't know, Jinyoung-ah? That you two were made for each other?"

The air had gone from his chest, leaving him feeling breathless and bewildered. "Dad, what––"

A steady hand up had Jinyoung quieting. "Your mother always knew. She never said much about it, but she knew.  _'It's in the way they look at each other, can't you see it?'_ she would say to me, all the time when the two of you were together. I never saw it as much, but I don't think I knew what to look for. She did, though, and she saw it. As you got older, started seeing other boys and, you know, all that stuff, I asked her about it again." 

"About me and Jaebum hyung?" 

He nodded. "One day about a year or so before she died, Jaebum had come to pick you up during the summer to go do some thing or another. She'd been sitting by the window, watching the two of you chase each other down the street when I came up and joined her. I said,  _'Do you still think they'll end up together?'_ and she'd just hummed.  _'Our Jinyoungie is going to be a real heartbreaker'_ is what she said after a minute or two. I remember being shocked by it. You were such a respectful, charming boy. She told me, ' _Jinyoung is going to break his heart'._ I asked why she thought that. "

Violent emotion lashes against his heart like a whip. His voice wavers horribly when he finally finds the strength to speak. "And what did she say?" 

His father just looked at him. "She turned around and looked at me, smiled when she said it.  _'Because he doesn't know that Jaebum-ah loves him more than anything in the world. He's a smart boy, our Jinyoungie, but he's blind to it. He'll find his way, though'._ But she didn't elaborate on what that meant. When I tried to ask her about it, she smiled and said the same thing.  _'He'll find his way'_."

"Dad––" his voice cracks and he chokes on a gasp; hot, fresh tears leak from his eyes and chase each other down his face. The thought that his mother had believed it so steadfastly but had died before Jinyoung ever had the chance to confide in her about it made him feel like he was tearing in two. "Why didn't you tell me this?" 

"She told me not to. Said that you had to come to the realization on your own." Unexpectedly, his father looks a little sad. "Sometimes it just comes too late." 

He felt his lower lip quiver cartoonishly but neither of them found the humor in it. "I never meant for it to be this way."

His father had seemed to inherently understand what he had said, with his words and what he had left unsaid between them and pulled him back into a hug. They sat that way for a while, Jinyoung feeling a bit foolish for crying like a child into his father’s neck, but it's the only relief he'd felt in weeks. His father had squeezed him gently and said,

“Don't cry. Nothing lasts forever, Jinyoung-ah.”

He'd left the room shortly after. Jinyoung stared at the empty spot on his bed, sucked backward in time to the summer after his mother passed away and Jaebum had pulled him into the pool and held them both under until he felt dizzy and intoxicated. He thought of the way he'd known, then, in that moment, that nothing lasts forever.

He's sure his father meant their fight, but it felt like something else.

 

**

 

He’s started counting the days like cards. If anyone asked him at any given time how long it’s been since he last heard Jaebum’s voice, he’s ashamed to admit that he could probably say down to the minute. As it stands, it’s been 18 days.

Eventually his father goads him into going back to class, regardless of how much that empty seat is going to hurt. _You’re wasting away, Jinyoung-ah, and you’re wasting your money, too._ Which, of course is the answer his dad would have. But Jinyoung can’t argue; staying home all day and moping in his room isn’t going to help, either. It’s better if he, at least, tries.

The ride to school on the bus is awkward now that it’s lonely. He’s so used to having Jaebum pushed up against his side with the crowded morning rush. Even on mornings where Jaebum didn’t feel like talking, those gaudy green headphones of his over his ears, Jinyoung was still afforded the comfort of his warm thigh pressed against his own as he looked out the window. Now, the seat beside him is empty until it’s taken up by a stranger. It’s as though no one even sat there at all.

Jinyoung closes his eyes. He wants to cry so badly. He can feel the way the tears burn unshed at the back of his throat, in the corners of his eyes, but he refuses to let them fall. Every memory he’s ever had of Jaebum seems to be rushing at him from all sides; everywhere he looks there’s some reminder of Jaebum and their lives together from the time he was able to remember to just a few weeks before it all went to shit. Every guy on the street with his hood up and his jeans pulled up low is Jaebum in disguise. Every couple sitting too close together in coffee shop windows or bus stop benches are himself and Jaebum in some alternate universe where none of this ever happened and they got the happy ending they so desperately wanted. Every breath he takes without Jaebum in his life is another needle point hole in his chest that leaks and leaks.

When the bus stops outside of campus, he lets go of the breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. The exhale is shaky and his eyes are a little watery, so he wipes an arm across his face as he steps from the bus to head to class. Along the way his head swims: how many times had him and Jaebum walked this way together? Arm in arm, or shoving each other playfully, or balancing two sets of books in their arms while the other dug through their bag? It never occurred to him just how many memories they had on this path until he had to walk it alone.

_Whatever,_ he breathes, trying to stay strong. _Whatever, whatever._

Most of the classroom is full by the time he reaches the door and peers into the window before grabbing the handle. A sigh builds up in his chest at the two empty seats in the back, wondering how long it’s going to take him before he has to get up and leave again. The door swings open when he yanks it just a little too hard and every pair of eyes looks in his direction.

Including the very familiar ones in the seat closest to the door.

Their eyes lock, both of them in some sort of weird shock at seeing each other in person for the first time in three weeks. Jinyoung freezes, mouth open like he’d been about to say something, but no words come. It seems that, at some point during the two weeks Jinyoung had stopped coming to class, Jaebum had started again. He'd probably come on the first day that Jinyoung had been gone and felt comforted to know that Jinyoung probably had done the same thing and would be gone for a while. It's like he hadn't expected Jinyoung to come back so early, if at all: Jaebum just keeps looking at him, and looking at him, and looking at him, until the weight of his stare feels like cement blocks on his chest. The heavy door slams into his back where he’d stopped in the doorway and he makes a noise as he stumbles forward. Snickers from the rest of the class make his face redden as he rights himself, pulling his shirt down just to give his hands something to do. When he looks back up, though, Jaebum’s eyes are focused intently on the blank piece of paper in front of him.

It’s as good of a brush off if any. Jinyoung just walks by, passing the desk and going to his seat all the way in the back without another sound.

Their professor comes in a couple of minutes later, flustered and a mess of papers falling out of her briefcase. Jaebum stands up, and Jinyoung just watches in quiet, agonized longing as he helps her pick them up. It comforts him somewhere deep to know that even in the wake of their…whatever it is, Jaebum hasn’t lost his sense of selflessness. Jinyoung’s heart contracts painfully at the smile Jaebum gives their teacher before he turns to go back to his seat.

When their eyes meet, Jaebum obviously looking for him, the smile drops and doesn’t return.

The rest of class is nightmarish. The professor’s voice fades in and out of his ears, mostly nonsensical as he just stares at the back of Jaebum’s head and wishes that there was something he could do to fix this. Jaebum often turns his head, eyes squinted where he pretends to look out the window, but Jinyoung knows him better than that. Every time their eyes meet he looks away quickly and acts like he hadn’t been looking at him at all.

By the end of class, Jinyoung is desperate to hear his voice, at least once. As the time wore down he could see the way tension started to build in Jaebum’s back until his shoulders were stiff with it. Students begin getting up and filing from the classroom, but Jaebum just flips his hood up and stays seated. Jinyoung knows why he’s hesitating: he’s waiting him out, wanting Jinyoung to leave first so that they won’t confront each other.

_He knows better,_ Jinyoung thinks to himself, bitterly swiping his books into his open backpack. They weren’t friends for 24 years just for Jaebum to underestimate how far he’s willing to go to get a reaction out of him.

The door swishes closed as the last student goes, shutting the two of them up in a heavy silence. Jinyoung’s chair scrapes too loudly against the linoleum as he stands up, shouldering his backpack but just waiting, watching Jaebum’s back where he’s still bent over his desk. His voice yearns to say something to him, to say _hyung, won’t you turn around and look at me?_ But it’s better if he doesn’t, so he just waits instead. The silence buzzes in his ears, Jaebum’s breathing barely audible underneath it.

They move in unison, so in tune with each other’s bodies that they synchronize unwittingly. When Jaebum finally stands, Jinyoung moves forward. Their bookbags make a similar swing as they move, Jaebum toward the door and Jinyoung toward Jaebum; his heart leaps into his throat at the thought of Jaebum making it to the door before him and slipping through his fingers so easily. But Jinyoung has always been just a little bit quicker on his feet: before Jaebum can reach the door handle, Jinyoung is desperately jumping the last couple of inches to wrap his fingers around Jaebum’s wrist.

Jaebum turns quickly, their eyes already trained to find the other’s in bare moments. His heart beats an unsteady rhythm like a broken drum as Jaebum stares back at him. The silence of the classroom buzzes in his ears like fizzling neon; interrupted only by their shallow breathing where neither of them have moved. His hand is still circled around Jaebum’s wrist: he hasn't pulled away yet, but the fingers of his hand are curled into a fist that turn his knuckles white. Jinyoung’s fingertips rest against his pulse point and he is distantly comforted by the wavering staccato of their matching heartbeats.

Jaebum just keeps staring, as though Jinyoung is an apparition, someone long passed that he can't believe is standing before his very eyes. As if Jaebum can't believe he's real, or here, or touching his skin. It has been 18 days since he last saw Jaebum, and there are 18 days worth of shadows pressed underneath his eyes like bruises. Jinyoung’s stomach tightens painfully at the thought that he’d been the one to cause it.

Jinyoung swallows. His voice quivers like the unsteady draw of a bowstring.

“Hyung,” he says, voice barely above a whisper and Jaebum leans in slightly like he's afraid to miss a single breath. “When are you going to talk to me again?”

A moment of hesitation where Jaebum sways closer, his eyes boring into Jinyoung's where their faces are mere inches apart. They're so close that Jinyoung can hear the sharp intake of breath between Jaebum's teeth, and can see the way his eyes darken and turn to twin storms. It's as though the sound of Jinyoung's voice had awoken something in him; something dark and twisting where momentary pain flashes across his features and is gone again. Their heartbeats pound in unison for another few moments before Jaebum's eyes turn angry.

The spell breaks. Jaebum tenses and yanks his arm away, breaking Jinyoung’s grip on his wrist and clenching his teeth. He hesitates only briefly, arrow strung through and aimed at Jinyoung's heart.

“When I have something to say.”

It strikes. Pierces him deep, phantom blood welling around the tip, pouring into his chest cavity and drowning him from the inside. Tears well up in his eyes and then Jaebum turns, a look on his face like agony as he shoves his way out the door. The reverb of the resulting slam echoes along the classroom walls and cages him into the sound. Misery, real and true, soaks him down to his bones.

_Nothing lasts forever, Jinyoung-ah._

But his father was wrong. Some things do.

 

**

 

December comes weeping, freezing rain beating against the windows that bores a steady resemblance to the water rushing from his eyes on nights he can’t sleep. His chest feels like a shell, scooped hollow and raw like the inside of a jack-o-lantern.

That day in class is the real last time he’d seem Jaebum. He’d stayed behind to stare at the place he’d just been, wondering where he was going, surprised that for the first time in his life he couldn’t be sure. Maybe he would go to their friend’s house, maybe he’d go to the river park, maybe he’d walk off campus and keep walking until his knees started to ache. Jaebum had always been a little predictable when they were younger but love and manhood made him a wildcard. Jinyoung had thought he’d be ready for him, but it seemed that Jaebum had meant it when he said he was tired of playing this game.

He dropped the English class after Jaebum had slammed the door and disappeared. There was no use in doing what he had done again: further attempts at getting Jaebum’s attention would only exacerbate a wound that already had no chance of healing. If it’s really the end (and god, it feels like the end, every day that goes by without the reassurance of Jaebum’s presence in his life feels like a death sentence) then it is best to sever it as close to the bone as possible. Sharing the same circle of friends will become a delicate dance but even despite the emptiness between them Jinyoung is still willing to do anything for him. His own comfort matters little to him anymore; as long as Jaebum feels like he doesn’t have to tiptoe around to avoid him, then Jinyoung will do whatever it takes to stay out of sight.

His pillow is soaked with tears but they just don’t stop. It has been 21 days.

 

**

  
After his mother died, Jinyoung had taught himself to be ready for anything. If his mother could go so quickly from the world, then anything was possible; Jinyoung was always steeling himself for the worst outcome of a scenario. College exams, breakups, fights with his dad and sister, missing the bus, the minor inconveniences of life all the way up to the big ones; getting fired, losing his grandmother. He had been ready for all of them because life had taught him that anything could happen.

  
What he’d never readied himself for was the possibility that, some day, there’d come a point where he wouldn’t see Im Jaebum for a long, long time.


	12. xii. crush down / fury red

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> sorry if there's any mistakes hehe i had to edit on the way to school!!! enjoy!! <33

**J I N Y O U N G**

  


The snow falls gently, tiny pristine flakes of ice landing on his jacket; they land on his exposed face and crown his head with a wintry halo. The cold metal of the car seeps through his jacket where he lays on the hood, barely feeling the warmth of Yugyeom’s arm where the younger is sprawled out next to him. Time ticks by at a snail’s pace with no words exchanged, only the steam clouds from their mouths and noses as they breathe in the silence between them. His cheeks hurt, both from the ice and the rubbed raw tear stains. The night sky is black, a curtain drawn across the atmosphere dotted with stars. The bright pinpoints of light pinwheel over his eyes as the world rotates ever on, despite not wanting to go with it.

“Hyung, I’m sure he’s going to forgive you. He has to. You’re his best friend.”

It’s the first thing either of them said in over an hour. Jinyoung watches as the warm cloud of Yugyeom’s breath spirals up away from his mouth and dissipates into the darkness, not responding with words but with the tears that burn like ice in his eyes.

“Maybe.”

But there’s no forgiveness in the trenches, only half-hearted, closed-eye prayers to a god he’s not sure he believes in.

It’s been 33 days.

  


******

  


**From: Jaebummie 25/12 9:56 pm**

_Merry Christmas, Jinyoungie._

 

**To: Jaebummie 25/12 10:22 pm**

_Yeah. You too, hyung._  
  


******

 

After a while, it got easier to lose track of time. He stopped waking up every morning to mark another day gone on his calendar with a violent red X. The last count he remembers is 62; the new year has come and gone without another word between them save for the half-hearted Christmas wish. But 62 was weeks ago, maybe even a month or two. Instead the days just blur together, Monday bleeding into Thursday bleeding into Friday bleeding into Saturday. Jinyoung’s internal timeline is less like a structured week and more like a hazy conglomerate of events that rattle like loose change in his pockets. He goes out more, smiling more willingly, though sometimes it still feels like an open wound across his face. His friends don’t mention it, though: when he smiles, he smiles, and it is a thing to celebrated with comforting pats on the back and smiles of their own rather than the usual berating and teasing. It takes him a while to catch on, but the mutual friends that him and Jaebum still share have taken to treating him like fine china. What they have failed to realize on their own, though, is that he’s already been broken.

The time continues to pass with no communication; no words or texts or accidental meetings on the subway. Winter melts from the trees, spring ushered in quickly on warm breezes and bright bursts of color blooming on the bushes. The snow disappears, thawing into muddy water that flows down the side streets like tiny rivers. Birds come back, downy feathered babies singing from their homes in the branches and rooftops. Seoul glitters in the sunlight, every surface like a mirror where it reflects the sun back into the cloudless blue sky.  As spring arrives and leaves winter behind, he trades his heavy winter coats for cardigans and the cold spot in his bed for a built, blocky body.

A large hand gently grips his throat, thumb stroking along the underside of his jaw as he struggles to wake up. The body in his bed just hums quietly while Jinyoung squeezes his eyes shut, legs stretching under the blankets. Warmth between their bodies feels a little stifling with the sunlight that filters in through his bedroom window and illuminates the bed. The heavy blanket Jinyoung is so fond of lays pushed down to the bare hips of his lover at his side, tanned skin unmarked and golden in the light. His mind tries to wander backward in time, to a day by the river where he’d seen a similar strip of skin, but he pushes the thought away. The thumb at his jaw just keeps stroking gently, fingertips pressing in, the promise of pleasure or the trust of reassurance in their hands. Jinyoung yawns and blinks awake.

He turns his head when they speak.

“Finally you’re awake.”

Jinyoung smiles, feeling the corners dirtied with the cobwebs that still linger but the rest of it genuine and soft. “Why didn’t you wake me up earlier?”

Hyunwoo sighs pleasantly. “You’re so cute when you’re sleeping. I couldn’t do it.”

He makes a pouty face. “So I’m not cute when I’m awake?”

His heart kicks up a notch when Hyunwoo leans up on his elbow, hovering over him with his hand still laid mildly over Jinyoung’s throat. The older boy’s eyes turn to half moons when he smiles, heart shaped lips parted slightly when he laughs.  

“You’re cute all the time.”

Jinyoung slips his bare arms around his neck, lips curling into a smirk when Hyunwoo’s eyes darken and he swallows. His chin tilts up, their mouths a hairsbreadth apart, eye contact heavy. Hyunwoo shifts a little more, leaning more weight on his elbow as he slides his body halfway over Jinyoung’s. A thrill rushes down Jinyoung’s body, goosebumps rising on his arms as Hyunwoo’s hand leaves his throat to support his weight on the other side of his head. The space between them turns electric as Jinyoung arches up, bare stomachs brushing, the cute mood evaporating under Jinyoung’s deadly sensuality. Hyunwoo’s breath catches in his throat when Jinyoung threads his fingers in his silky dark hair and tugs.

“Am I cute now, hyung?”

“Farthest thing from it,” he says, and closes the gap between their mouths.

The sex that follows is lazy and slow, Jinyoung’s back bowed off the bed and Hyunwoo’s face buried in his shoulder. Every calculated thrust of his hips makes Jinyoung gasp, eyes closed and face tilted up toward the ceiling while he digs his nails into Hyunwoo’s broad back. The older boy’s shoulders are wide, twice as wide as his own; Jinyoung feels dwarfed in his grip and it only makes it that much hotter when Hyunwoo loses control. Jinyoung’s eyes squeeze shut harder and guilt floods his body like a burst dam as he pictures another set of hands on his body, smaller than these but warmer and kinder and more familiar; another set of broad shoulders under his fingers with a scar from a bike accident he’s looked at a million times. Jinyoung’s moans grow louder as he imagines a different set of lips on his neck, that thick bottom lip that swells with barely any biting, and he has to remind himself over and over:

_Don’t say his name. Don’t say his name. Don’t say his name._

“Jinyoungie,” Hyunwoo moans, his voice a rumbling soprano where he’s biting at his shoulder and thrusting into him deep, “feel so good, you’re so beautiful––”

_His fingers slip inside, knuckle deep and crooked as he works himself open across Jaebum’s lap. His impatient hands slide up his thighs, wanting to touch his cock where it’s heavy and leaking between his legs, but Jinyoung had slapped it away and he didn’t try again. Jinyoung’s eyes roll underneath his closed lids, drunken pleasure bleaching through his body as he scissors his fingers again and again. Jaebum just whimpers underneath him, cock straining against his underwear. “Jinyoungie,” he breathes, voice wrecked and soaked in want, “Jinyoungie, you’re so beautiful––”_

The echo in his head makes him gasp, transported again to that night where they’d given in to each other after years of holding back. The ghost of Jaebum’s praise from his kiss swollen lips has Jinyoung’s orgasm swelling until it’s flowing over, his back arching sharply as he paints his stomach white. Hyunwoo just moans, watching, thrusting his hips up and up until he’s pulling out to come across Jinyoung’s navel.

Hyunwoo drops onto his back next to Jinyoung on the bed, breathing hard and basking in the sunlight. He’s oblivious to the tense line of Jinyoung’s body, his own breath shallow and pained as he stares up at the ceiling while guilt holds him down by the throat.

It’s always like this, and it has been like this since the first time Jinyoung had reached out to Hyunwoo after weeks and weeks of not talking to Jaebum. The older boy had been skeptical at first: _Are you over Jaebum yet?_ and Jinyoung had just laughed at him. _It was never like that,_ he explained, though it _had_ been like that, and is like that still. _We hooked up and got it out of our systems. I haven’t even talked to him in a couple of months._ He had said it with a laugh, like it was funny. Hyunwoo had sighed happily into the phone and asked him on another date to which Jinyoung had immediately agreed.

Jinyoung has always been a good actor, though. Their first date after Jaebum had vanished from his life post-blow up, he didn’t mention him once. If Hyunwoo was surprised by this he didn’t show it, but the way he’d taken Jinyoung back to his apartment and fucked him senseless over the back of the couch told him otherwise. Despite thinking of Jaebum the whole time, seeing his face everywhere, the length of his shoulders in every person facing away from him, it was so easy to act like he didn’t. And Hyunwoo made him smile, and made him feel wanted, and told him outright and honestly that he’s cute regardless of all the people around them. Jaebum’s face stayed stained against the forefront of his brain like an optical illusion no matter where he looked. Acting came naturally, though, and when Hyunwoo kissed him before bending him over the couch, he thought that if he acted like he didn’t care about Jaebum for long enough it would eventually be true.

 

**

 

It was a weird adjustment at first, their friends getting used to Hyunwoo being a somewhat permanent fixture in Jinyoung’s life. The first time they’d all gotten together with Hyunwoo lumbering just behind him, he was met with low murmurs of greeting and uneasy eyes. It had been all six of them, Jaebum noticeably missing like an amputated limb. Jinyoung hadn’t known what to say to them: their tone was lost over text in the group chat when he’d asked, somewhat uncomfortably, if he could bring a plus one; when they’d shown up at the bar with five of his friends gathered around the table that went silent despite the rowdiness of the bar around them he had felt ashamed.

Hyunwoo, disgustingly innocent (in some one ways) and maybe a little heartbreakingly naive, hadn’t even noticed the change in atmosphere. He had just laughed along with everyone else, despite the sometimes fake smiles stretched across their faces. The tension eased the more that everyone drank, but never fully dissipated; there was always the lingering pressure of everyone's glares on his face when they thought he wasn’t looking. Hyunwoo had been the first to set a beer on the table and announce that he was going to the bathroom.

As soon as he was out of earshot, five heads swiveled in his direction. Jinyoung had been a couple beers deep already, and he met their stares head on instead of shrinking away in shame like he might have otherwise. All five of them looked like they had something to say, mouths in tight lines and eyes never leaving his face like they were disappointed parents waiting on an explanation.

“Yah, why are you all looking at me like that?” he’d complained, a blush blooming across his cheeks but his eyes still steadfastly locked with everyone else’s. “If you’re mad, say something.”

Youngjae had been the first to speak. “We’re not mad, hyung,” he’d said, voice quiet. “But…”

And the expression on Youngjae’s face was mirrored on the rest of them. Disappointment, hurt, maybe a little bit of betrayal. He didn’t understand: they’d all been so sick of them fighting, hadn’t they? They’d all told him, at one point or another, that they were sick of being caught in the middle of his constant tug of war with Jaebum. All of them had expressed in their own ways that they were tired of being collateral damage in the perpetual, metaphorical knife fight that he and Jaebum had subjected themselves to. So now that Jaebum was out of his life and he’d had nothing left to say, now that they hadn’t spoken in nearly five months and didn’t seem like they were going to any time soon, _now_ they were angry? Jinyoung had never asked them to pick sides and none of them had to, yet they sat around the table while Jinyoung’s date was in the bathroom and looked at him like he’d asked them to give up their lives for him.

The anger had risen fast and hot in his throat like vomit. “What? You’re what? You’re disappointed?”

The five boys around him all looked at each warily but none of them disagreed.

He’d made a noise in the back of his throat. “I can’t believe you guys.”

Youngjae looked cowed and didn’t speak up, so Bambam stepped in. “It’s really not that, hyung. It’s just…” he sighed when he’d looked around for help and received none. “Hyunwoo hyung?”

“What’s the problem? I can’t see other people?”

“It’s just the connotation,” Mark said, his eyes sharp and delivery unflinching, always the one to step up and say what needed to be said. “You guys fought over him once. You went on a date with him and then he broke it off because all you could do was talk about Jaebum. And now that you don’t talk to Jaebum anymore, you go right back to him. Don’t you see how that looks?”

No. He hadn’t. At the time, it didn’t occur to him that it looked like he was just a player, a cunning strategist who had set up the pins and then knocked them down with one calculated sweep. Hyunwoo hadn’t ever been a ploy to get Jaebum riled up, to bring about some revelation or other that would spark the coals and make the fire rise until they were both caught up in the blaze. It had never occurred to him to use him as a pawn in his greater attempt to get Jaebum into bed _because there’d never been a plan in the first place._ Something sharp and broken stuck out of his chest at the thought that they’d see Jinyoung that way.

“That’s not fair,” he spat, “and you know it. Do you really all think of me that way? Huh? You think I’d be low enough to be using him like that? Do you all really think that I care about hurting Jaebum that much?”

No one spoke. He continued,

“Maybe at first when I told Jaebum about the date, I wanted him to feel something. To feel something enough to tell me to my face,” he’d said, and his voice had turned from steel to the desperate soft edge near tears, “to react some way so that I knew he loved me. But he just got angry instead. And you know what? I went on that date with Hyunwoo the first time with every intention of forgetting about Jaebum, but he was a part of me, we were so wound together that everything I ever did was stained with some memory of him. Was I not supposed to talk about him at all? Huh? Say the date had worked out, was I expected to cut Jaebum out of my life for the sake of Hyunwoo?”

The burning buzz of the alcohol had him feeling sideways, words pouring unbidden from his mouth like water.

“Isn’t this what you all wanted? Some sort of peace?” Jinyoung continued, voice low as he rushed to get it all out before Hyunwoo came back. “We haven’t talked in months. I haven’t seen him for longer than that. We’re both trying to move on and no one ever asked you to pick sides. So don’t. Be with me when you’re with me and be with him when you’re with him, but don’t drag him through the middle of this. We’re two separate people now.”

They’d all fallen silent. Their eyes never left the sticky tabletop with their hands around their beers and had to decency to look cowed. Jinyoung’s heart thudded brokenly in his chest, the gravity of his own words sinking in as the six of them sat in their pocket of silence.

“You guys have to give somewhere. If this is going to work then it has to be fair.” His voice had fallen quieter, one last attempt at desperation. “Please.”

  
  
  


It got easier after that.

Now, Hyunwoo has been a widely accepted part of their group. Outings have none of the awkwardness that had ensued the first night they’d all gone out together, and Jinyoung can see the way that they younger boys are starting to latch onto him. Hyunwoo is so fundamentally different than Jaebum, changing the dynamics of their friend group when he’s around, bringing out a side of them he’s never seen before. It’s nice. It makes him happy, distantly, in whatever way he can be happy. Jaebum’s absence from the last couple of months still aches like a phantom limb, but smiling is easier now.

They’re all out on a Friday, sweat on their necks from the heat despite the cover of night. Jackson leads them into a shady bar down a side street, arm shoved through Mark’s and swearing up and down that it’s the best bar in town. The rest of them roll their eyes and groan, knocking elbows and shoulders but no one complains as they’re lead into the dimly lit room. There’s a thin film of smoke over everything, a cloying scent of sharp tobacco and spicy gin permeating the air. Jackson bypasses the tables crowded together in the center of the tiny room and heads for the billiards tables shoved seemingly forgotten in a shadowy corner.

Hyunwoo’s large hand finds the small of his back and a moment later he feels warmth at his ear. “Are any of them good at shooting pool?”

Jinyoung shies away, shoulder covering his ear while Hyunwoo laughs. “No. The only one who’s any good is Mark, and that’s because he lived in America and had time to do it.”

“So, he’s at least a little bit of a competition?”

He grins as he ends up in the circle of his arm, hands loosely gripped in the thin material of Hyunwoo’s shirt. The older boy smiles down at him painfully sweet, concrete forming in his stomach; Jinyoung presses his body closer and tries to ignore it.

“Not really. You’re hard to compete with.”

Hyunwoo’s eyes flash dangerously, a distress signal of want. “God, you’re such a flirt.”

The hand at his back fists in his shirt when he leans up to brush his lips across Hyunwoo’s. “You like it.”

With a groan, Hyunwoo loosens his hand from Jinyoung’s thin white shirt and spins him out of his grip. Jinyoung turns with it, spinning on his heel with a giggle that isn’t entirely faked to sit on one of the barstools propped up against the wall. He leans back when he’s sitting, meeting Hyunwoo’s eyes and playfully spreading his legs when the older boy rakes his hungry eyes down the length of his body. Mark suddenly appears behind him, bumping their shoulders and Hyunwoo looks away with a blush on his handsome cheeks.

He turns his head when a body slips up onto the stool beside him. Jackson’s shaggy blond hair falls into his eyes as he adjusts and he pushes it away impatiently when he looks over.

“Are you having a good time?”

Jinyoung nods, and for the first time in a while he can answer honestly. “Yeah. Yeah, actually.”

“It’s been a while since I’ve seen you happy.”

“Really?”

Jackson nods, looking away. His dark eyes focus on Mark and Jinyoung wonders when, if ever, the two of them will hook up or something. He’s distracted from the thought when Jackson says,

“Yes. It took you a long time to recover from your fight with Jaebum hyung.”

The sigh pushes out of his chest almost unwillingly. “Jackson––”

“I mean it. You were holed up in your room for weeks. Any time any of us came by, your dad would have to tell us how you’d been crying for hours and were passed out on your bed. He told us how much weight you lost. It was hard seeing you that way.”

He swallows around the sharpness in his throat.

Jackson continues, “we don’t have to linger on it, Jinyoungie. I just wanted to tell you that I’m happy that you’re happy. Even if it was weird at first when you started bringing Hyunwoo around, I’m glad you’re happy. We all are.”

Jinyoung looks across the small, dingy bar to the far wall decorated in glaring neon signs shaped like beer logos. He tries to not say anything, but his eyes unfocus and the words seem to come unprompted.

“I’m not happy. That’s the thing,” he says, and turns to look at Jackson when he can feel the other boy getting ready to pipe up. “Don’t misunderstand. I like being with Hyunwoo. It’s nice. It feels good. He makes me laugh and takes me on cute dates and god, you wouldn’t believe what he’s like in bed––”

The punch Jackson aims at his shoulder misses when he laughs a little and leans away. He sighs again, eyes wandering until they land on the line of Hyunwoo’s shoulders where he’s bent intently over the pool table, eyes focused on the ball.

“But… I don’t feel happy. I feel comfortable. But not happy.”

Jackson’s voice, when he replies, is soft. “Is it because you miss Jaebum?”

He just keeps watching Hyunwoo’s shoulders. “Yes.”

“Jinyoungie––”

“You know what my dad told me?” he doesn’t wait for Jackson to answer, and it was mostly rhetorical, anyway. “That my mom knew about us. Or, that she knew Jaebum and I would end up together some day. I guess she seemed to know both of us better than we did. She told my dad that, despite it, I’d break his heart someday.”

“Wow,” Jackson interrupts, breath coming out in a low whistle. “Your mom said that?”

With a click of his tongue Jinyoung digs an elbow into Jackson’s ribs. “Yes. And I guess right before she died, my dad asked her if she thought we’d still end up together. She told him that I was smart but that I was blind and couldn’t see how much he loved me.”

Pain, real and visceral, blooms in his chest like a flower. He feels every edge where it curls around his insides, taking up the empty space between his bones and taking root. His breathing feels labored, but he does everything in his power to inhale quietly through his nose.

“After he told me that, you know what he said? He said that she told him not to tell me, that I had to come to the realization on my own. And then he said that sometimes it comes too late.”

Jackson’s face falls, shoulders slumped miserably. It’s almost funny, how dejected he looks, but Jinyoung can’t find the urge to laugh. “It’s not––”

“It is,” he says, cutting Jackson off before he has time to tell him _it’s not too late._ “I had 23 years to catch up but I always had my eyes closed.”

His companion doesn’t say anything after that, but Jinyoung can feel the weight of his eyes on the side of his face. Jinyoung just keeps looking at Hyunwoo, looking past him, the whole bar disappearing under the haze of memories.

She had been right, his mother, that he was blind. Twenty long years and somehow he’d missed all the signs. The lingering touches on the cold, rainy days when Jinyoung would let Jaebum stick his hands inside his shirt. Jaebum’s warm breath on his neck where he’d bury his face in his shoulder, squeaking when Jaebum’s cold nose would touch his skin. The laugh, the beautiful, tiny laugh in his ear as Jaebum tightened his arms and wouldn’t let him loose. How had he missed it? It was everywhere, it was everything. The look in Jaebum’s eyes when Jinyoung told him stories. The way that Jaebum seemed to be at his side despite never being summoned during the hard times, a shoulder to cry on even though he didn’t know he needed it. How did he miss the way that Jaebum always came running when he called?

He slumps against the wall, eyes wet. Jackson just watches him quietly as he thinks. He had somehow missed years of signs without ever offering any of his own; his desire had only slipped out here and there like a sleight of hand. The kiss when they were fifteen, his own hands layered over Jaebum’s as they slept pressed together in their tiny childhood beds, the need that ached inside him like a bruise to have Jaebum always within arm’s length. His mother had died and the possibility that Jaebum could ever leave him became real, and with that came the terror of pushing their boundaries to breaking; despite how badly he needed Jaebum after that he always kept his desire tucked hidden behind his back. How he had thought, then, that it would be for the better that he never showed it.

Jackson’s hand on his arm brings him back to the present and he looks over, blinking slowly. “You okay, Jinyoungie?”

He laughs kind of bitterly. “Not really. But, yes. Kind of.”

And the best thing about Jackson is that he just _understands._ He nods and doesn’t push it.

“Actually,” Jinyoung says, desperate to steer his thoughts in another direction. “Jaebum forgave Yugyeom, right?”

Jackson smiles. “Yes, and it didn’t take as long as you’d think. He actually wasn’t even that mad at Yugyeom.”

“Just me, then.”

Blond hair falls back into Jackson’s eyes as a sheepish blush crosses his features. “Yeah.”

It’s not surprising, and he deserves it. “I’m just glad he didn’t stay angry at Yugyeom for long. Yugyeom loves him a lot, and when he came to my house after our fight he told me how scared he was of Jaebum that night.”

Jackson laughs. “Yeah, he was kinda pissed off for a while but then he kind of realized it wasn’t really Yugyeom’s fault, he just misunderstood. Jaebum gets that Yugyeom was just trying to watch out for the both of you in some twisted kind of way, even if it ended up being wrong. They laugh about it now, actually. Yugyeom and Jaebum always bring it up when we hang out.”

A pang of something, jealousy or hurt or both, strikes through his chest like a lightening bolt. “He’s happy, then?”

The older boy shrugs. “Who’s to say? You seem happy, but then when I asked you say you’re not happy. It could be the same for him. But he seems okay, yeah. He smiles a lot like he used to. For whatever that’s worth.”

“It’s worth a lot.”

“You still care about him, huh, Jinyoungie?”

“Jackson, I never won’t care about him. I still––” his voice catches, swallowing around the _I still love him_ that had almost slipped out. “Just because we haven’t seen each other in almost six months doesn’t mean I don’t magically not care about him. We were friends for a long time. It’s not that easy.”

“You talk in the past tense,” Jackson says, not maliciously, just matter-of-factly. “So it must be kind of easy.”

The smile that pulls up one corner of his mouth has weighted the other with sorrow. “It’s not easy. Just realistic.”

“You guys are so––”

But he never has the chance to finish. Cheering erupts at the the billiards table a few feet away from them, and they look over to see Bambam and Yugyeom attempting to leap on Hyunwoo’s back. Bambam’s head cracks against the tin hanging lamp, sending it swinging, light slicing back and forth over the five of them as they burst into laughter. Jackson slips off the stool cackling, slapping a hand on Jinyoung’s leg before he rushes to throw an arm around Mark’s shoulder. Bambam rubs his head, tears streaming from his eyes as he laughs, Hyunwoo’s arm around his shoulders and drawing him in with a grin on his face.

And it should be so easy, Jinyoung thinks to himself, leaning back and resting his head against the wall. It should be so easy to get down from his stool and join them, to let the joy rise up and pull him underneath it, to feel the numbed edges of pain from the happiness that this could bring. But even as the six of them are huddled together shouting and laughing, Jaebum’s absence is still visible like two punched in eyes.


	13. xiii. soldier on

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hello.... <3 
> 
> POV switch is in italics. ;-) 
> 
> enjoy!!!!!! <33333

 

The thing about loss is that it’s less like _losing_ something than it is gaining a whole myriad of other things. Asked to describe it, Jinyoung could define the space in which he’d lost Jaebum but struggles to describe just how much he was weighed down with things that came after: grief, heartache; the bitter burden of knowing that something had just been within his reach and missed by utter inches. Sure Jaebum is gone now, but what about all the things he’d left behind? The memories, the smell of his cologne where it has seeped into the corners of Jinyoung’s couches, the handfuls of clothes abandoned after sleep overs and folded carefully in the bottom drawer. 

The shirts are the worst. All of them are too big for him: the sleeves are wide and swallow the tops of his arms, turning his slender body into a box where the fabric hangs to his thighs. There’s dozens of them, collected over years of Jaebum leaving them on his bedroom floor and saying  _ yah, Jinyoungie, I’ll take my clothes home later  _ because he’d always come back and needed them. But in Jaebum’s prolonged absence, he rarely had a reason to touch them until he realized he could wear them to bed.

It’d been cute at first; Hyunwoo laughed at him for wearing a shirt with some American basketball team on it when it was clear Jinyoung had nothing of interest to say about the sport. He’d groaned and told Jinyoung how good he looked in them the first few times, large hands sliding up the skin of his exposed bare thighs and underneath the shirt to grope him. But as Hyunwoo’s overnight stays grew more frequent and Jinyoung pulled more and more shirts from the bottom drawer like a magician’s bag, Hyunwoo finally has a lightbulb go off in his head.

“Jinyoungie,” he says, watching him where he’s spread out across Jinyoung’s bed. He half turns, glancing at the naked form of his...boyfriend? Friend with benefits? Lover? Jinyoung doesn’t know what to call him so he doesn’t call him anything. He turns away and resumes rifling through his drawer for underwear.

“Hmm?”

His voice is soft, almost timid. “Those shirts you always wear to bed.” 

Jinyoung, having pulled on his boxers and currently digging around for one of the shirts in question, grabs a random one to pull over his head while shutting the drawer with his foot. The way Hyunwoo is looking at him right now, one hand behind his head and eyebrows drawn up, has his heartbeat thundering nervously in his ears. Jinyoung picks up the towel he’d dropped coming out of the bathroom and rubs at his hair for something to do with his hands. “What about them?”

“Where did you get them all?” 

_ You know where they came from,  _ he wants to say, and he can even feel the meanness on the tip of his tongue before he swallows it back. An uncomfortable feeling bubbles up in his throat but he manages a nonchalant shrug. His acting skills impress even him when he says,

“Oh, Jaebum’s been leaving them here for forever. He just never took them home.”

Hyunwoo’s thick eyebrow raises in question “And you never got rid of them or gave them back?”

“It didn’t seem important,” he says, turning to drop the towel in the hamper and closing his eyes to feel a real emotion for even just one moment.  _ I kept them because it’s all I have left of him.  _

But he doesn’t say this. He turns instead, grinning, watching as the look of unease on Hyunwoo’s face melts under the smile he gets in return. “Plus, it’s not like we broke up or anything. He’s free to come get them whenever he wants, but I’m pretty sure he just left them here so that the burden of donating them would be on me instead.” 

Hyunwoo laughs quietly as Jinyoung flops down beside him on the bed. “You still haven’t talked to him?” 

“Nah,” Jinyoung says, aiming to seem bored of the conversation and emphasizing it with a loud yawn. “He’s really busy, since this is his last year of school. The guys see him all the time, but that’s because the majority of them live down there near his house, so they usually stop by while he’s doing homework and stuff.” 

It almost makes him feel guilty, how easily Hyunwoo accepts this, being completely untrue. The older male wraps an arm around Jinyoung’s skinny waist, pulling him in until they’re chest to back. His heart aches like a throbbing bruise as Hyunwoo buries his face in the damp hair at the base of Jinyoung’s neck. “Maybe he’s avoiding you because you’re with me now,” he jokes, voice muffled with sleep and maybe just a little bit of curiosity. 

Jinyoung snorts. “Yeah, right. I know you guys haven’t talked to each other since like, middle school, but come on. He doesn’t care about my sex life.” 

Hyunwoo sighs into his hair. “You know, it’s funny, because in school we always teased him for being in love with you. It’s weird that you ended up having a thing for him and not the other way around, huh?”

He’s glad for the dark of the room and the way that Hyunwoo is already mostly asleep behind him when he swallows unevenly, mask slipping. “Yeah.”

The older male’s voice is slow and deep, breathy with the last few conscious inhales before falling completely asleep. “I’m glad you got over him, Jinyoungie,” he murmurs, heart shaped lips against Jinyoung’s skin; his breathing settles into the rhythmic pattern of sleep and Jinyoung is left alone in the silence. 

“Me too,” he says, trying to swallow back the burning, useless tears before pushing the heel of his hand into his eye. 

How easy it is to lie. Despite growing up with them until middle school, Hyunwoo never knew anything. He was always more Jinyoung’s friend than Jaebum’s, anyway, despite being older. Much like everyone else, though, he’d always been an outsider to the exclusivity of Jinyoung and Jaebum’s relationship and that didn’t change when he moved away for high school. They’d kept in touch, of course, Hyunwoo being one of Jinyoung’s oldest childhood friends, but there were never any times he felt that he could divulge the nature of their lives to him. He’d been so happy when he moved back for college, despite it being a weird period where Jaebum’s feelings were now out in the open but their outside relationship remained relatively unchanged. And then years later when Hyunwoo finally asked him on that date, the catalyst to their metaphorical bloodshed, Hyunwoo had only ever seen it from Jinyoung’s side. He’d only ever seen how Jinyoung always talked about Jaebum, thought about him, found a rhyme or reason to involve him in the conversation despite not being there. Hyunwoo had seen first hand how Jinyoung had moaned his name in bed the first time they’d hooked up and kicked him out, saying,  _ It’s all Jaebum hyung this and Jaebum hyung that. I don’t get why you keep talking about him when you’re trying to be with me. You should have never agreed to this date if you have feelings for him. Call me when you’re over it  _ and slammed the door in his face. 

He’d never seen the two sides of the coin. Hyunwoo only ever saw Jinyoung’s struggle with the feelings he himself had tried desperately to bury and couldn’t. And now, with Hyunwoo in his bed, he feels the guilt like swallowed razor blades.

A voice, his own, rises from the dark depths of memory: 

_ You’ve always been a liar, hyung.  _

The anamnesis of him, lines of pain etched deep in a face he'd recognize by touch alone. The recollection of Jinyoung standing tearful and bloodied in his living room as Jaebum stood by the door and squeezed his heart with one hand like it was nothing, his eyes shining wet in the foyer like he'd been about to cry. The too-clear memory of how he'd swallowed them back and gone rigid like the marble statues Jinyoung is convinced he'd been shaped after. 

The other voice, as familiar as his own, sweeps him up in the wave and drags him under into the kind of restless, uncomfortable sleep he'd been having for months. 

_ So have you, Jinyoungie. _

And he has. 

 

******

 

_ “Everything feels like a contest. At first I thought he really was just trying to give me what I wanted, trying to sleep with me so I wouldn't be mad. But he pushed so much that I couldn't help but push back, test his limits, see what he was really out for. And then it just felt like a contest of who would break first. A game. And of course it was me. Of course I lost. He knew I would. But then to hear that he loves me? After all that? After all the years of nothingness? What else was I supposed to think? It doesn't matter anymore, anyway. I don't know if we’ll ever see each other again.” _

 

**

  
  


He had measured the passing of time in the change of the seasons as they faded into one another. The autumn of their demise had slowly dwindled into the harsh and cold winter that brought months of no contact. Though there has been plenty of Hyunwoo to distract him from the burning stretch of days, he had still spent many of them alone and isolated on the freezing porches of coffee shops. Most patrons had sought the solace of indoor heating, but he had been content to punish himself in the bitter cold with two numb hands wrapped around a coffee. Jinyoung would sit outside until his face hurt, cheeks and nose red from the cold, fingers stiff and achy where he’d barely moved for hours. The coffee, only bought to earn him a seat at the shop and to serve as silent company, was tossed nearly completely full when the chill became too much and he’d had enough. It would be late, usually, by the time he was defrosting on the subway platform, swallowed by his coat and blowing on his reddened fingers. His dark eyes would sweep back and forth among the thinned crowd, telling himself he was just observing but knowing in his heart he was looking for a familiar figure.

Winter lapsed into the lightness of spring and brought warm breezes and sunny days. Jinyoung had moved out of his childhood home and into a studio apartment, finally on his own for the first time; he had carefully packed the posters and pages tacked to the wall in a box that he left in the closet of his old bedroom. Only some things came with him, and the thousands of photos of him and Jaebum over the course of their lives are stashed away in the bottom of his tiny wardrobe, hidden like paraphernalia that he often itches to look at but doesn't dare touch. The walls of his new apartment were adorned with adult things, nice pieces of art and photos of his family, though he'd still been too attached to some of his movie posters to put them away. They hang proudly in the kitchen, just enough like home to keep him satisfied. 

Hyunwoo had become more frequent, though not permanent; he’d been reluctant to put a label on it and cringed away visibly at the word  _ boyfriend.  _ But Jinyoung rarely corrected him: they’d been doing whatever it is they’ve been doing ( _ Dating, Jinyoungie,  _ Mark would say wearily,  _ it’s called dating)  _ frequently and in the open. Jinyoung had the fight at the bar with the guys, who had, in a surprising show of deference, apologized to Hyunwoo a couple of weeks later. He had not been happy then either; the sun came up and spent far too long stretching across the robin’s egg blue of cloudless skies. The months began to stack like dominoes and though he no longer could count the days down to the minute, he knew that it had been a long, long time. 

As spring wound down into the warmer days, shedding cardigans on the bus or in cars with a griping complaint of  _ yah, it’s too hot  _ the chasm in his chest only grew wider and colder. Strange that he had gone so long without hearing Jaebum’s voice: 23 years had passed before with barely a day that had gone by without the sound of it in his ear, shouted or whispered or laughing down the telephone line. Jinyoung had taken it for granted, then, just how often he heard it; the days that lumbered on tediously without so much of the faint echo of his whisper had his heart aching horribly. He missed it so easily and he misses it still: his fingers itched and do itch to pick up the phone and call him, even for only a moment, just to remind himself of what Jaebum’s voice really sounds like. It pains him deep and violently in his heart that he has already seemed to have forgotten it.

Regardless of his misery the days keep passing. He no longer marks them on a calendar as they come and go, but it never stopped him from counting in rounded-up purpose as the months stacked up against them. Three. Four. Five. Two seasons had come and slipped away again; winter to spring and the ice had melted in the streets but not from his heart.

Six months arrives on the first hot day of summer.

  
  


**

 

He doesn’t forget about what Hyunwoo said in bed a couple of weeks before, but he tries to. Jinyoung tries  _ desperately _ to forget the way Hyunwoo had joked about Jaebum’s feelings for him as though they didn’t exist and never had; Jinyoung doesn’t want to be bitter or hold a grudge but his stomach often sours at the recollection of Hyunwoo’s unconscious taunt:  _ so sorry he didn’t love you, Jinyoung-ah, but I’m glad you’re over him now.  _

Of course, that’s not exactly what he’d said, but the meaning had been clear enough. Jinyoung tries to lose himself in the sweet folds of Hyunwoo’s eyes when he smiles. 

“Did anyone ever tell you that you’re excessively bratty?” Hyunwoo asks, glancing over at him with a grin before looking back at the road. It pulls him from his thoughts that, as usual, had been slowly teetering towards Jaebum. Jinyoung pouts, proving his point but still attempting to fight back. 

“I’m not  _ excessively  _ bratty, hyung,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. Hyunwoo had started blasting the air conditioning in the car at his request and laughed at him when he’d refused to take off his cardigan despite being overly warm. “Just… you know. A  _ little  _ bit.” 

His rich, deep laugh should make Jinyoung’s heart flutter, but it’s nothing like the musical one he’d been hearing for years. Jinyoung’s heart lays still in his chest. “Sure. A  _ little  _ bit. I don’t think anyone who  _ isn’t  _ a brat would complain about being hot but then refuse to take off the jacket that’s making them overheat in the first place.”

Annoyed, Jinyoung makes a sound against the back of his teeth with his tongue. He sticks two fingers in the vent to reposition it so it’s blowing directly on his face and cooling some of the sweat there. Hyunwoo is right: it’s his fault for not removing the cardigan when he’d first been getting uncomfortably warm in the restaurant, but it compliments his outfit so nicely that he hadn’t wanted to take it off. Even at night the heat had been a little stifling, and yet he’d still worn it despite Hyunwoo’s well meaning protests. 

Jinyoung looks down at the heather gray, heavily woven fabric. “First, it’s a cardigan, not a jacket. If it were a jacket, you’d have every right to make fun of me because anyone who wears a jacket in this weather is crazy. Second,” he continues, holding up two fingers now where Hyunwoo can see them from the corner of his eye, “this cardigan looks great with this outfit and there’s no  _ way _ I was going to sacrifice looking good for ten minutes of comfort.” 

“Sure thing, Jinyoung-ah,” he says affectionately, looking over as they wait in the turn lane for traffic to go. His voice dips, taking on the sickly sweet honey quality Jinyoung likes so much. “And you’re right. You do look good. You know where that cardigan would look even better?” 

Hyunwoo’s face is half shadowed in the dark of the car, illuminated on one side by the glare of the stoplight. His gaze is cast in a blood red glow as he watches Jinyoung from the driver’s seat, and Jinyoung feels the familiar burn of incoming arousal low in his stomach.  _ On the person it belongs to?  _ his brain supplies, unhelpfully, but he lets the mist of lust start crowding in to push it away.

“Hmm?” 

His voice had become a purr and Hyunwoo’s eyes flash even in the half-dark, face suddenly splashed with green as the light changes color. “On the floor.” 

It is spoken both as a threat and a promise; Jinyoung recognizes the possessiveness in him as he turns to keep driving. Sitting in the passenger seat he just slides a hand over Hyunwoo’s thigh, stroking the inside with gentle fingers as he inches his hand up and up. The low jazz playing over the car stereo is buried under the harshness of Hyunwoo’s breath. Jinyoung bites his lip cheekily and slides it hand up further until the older boy groans hotly at Jinyoung’s hand on the crotch of his jeans. They’re not far from Jinyoung’s house now, and Jinyoung enjoys a little sadistically the pleasure he inflicts on Hyunwoo by just massaging his cock over his pants. Jinyoung is glad that he’d finally moved out and gotten his own place; the first couple of months of having quiet sex in his childhood bedroom was almost traumatic.

He’s even more glad for his little studio when Hyunwoo is parking the car fast and practically yanking him out of it. He kisses Jinyoung rough and dirty against the hood, hands on his hips trying to get underneath his shirt and hips grinding into his. Jinyoung gasps, surprised at the aggressiveness from someone usually so gentle and sweet but not hating the way it makes his thoughts melt together. 

“Let’s go upstairs, hyung, I don’t want to go to jail for letting you fuck me in the parking lot.”

He doesn’t say anything until they’re waiting for the elevator in Jinyoung’s new apartment building.

“You’d let me fuck you outside?” 

Jinyoung laughs, handing Hyunwoo the apartment key and wrapping his legs around his waist where he jumps into his arms. They kiss harder, faster; Jinyoung is aware of the way, as he usually is, that Hyunwoo’s body is so different than the one he’s craving. A growl rips from his throat as he bites at his mouth, desperate to chase the thoughts away, frustrated at knowing they’ll come back as soon as Hyunwoo has him spread out on the bed. The door of Jinyoung’s studio apartment bangs against the wall as Hyunwoo carries them through it, tongues wet and insistent in each other’s hungry mouths.

Sharp lust drives through him as Hyunwoo sets him down on his feet but doesn’t move away from where he’s frantically kissing his lips. Jinyoung makes a pleased noise in his throat the impatient nipping of Hyunwoo’s teeth; his large hands yank and push at the cardigan on his shoulders until it feels like it’s stretching. Combination sweat and long sleeved button up shirt make the cardigan difficult to remove, but Hyunwoo seems to be having no qualms with tearing it as vicious fingers hook into the knitted material and yank. 

“Hyung,” Jinyoung moans, squirming a bit as Hyunwoo pulls at the cardigan at his shoulders. Jinyoung tries to help, shoulders rolling back, but the material is stuck around his upper arms. Hyunwoo growls against his mouth and doesn’t answer, yanking down hard. “Hyung!” 

“Damn thing won’t come off,” he pants, half-laughing, but Jinyoung feels uneasy at the demanding way Hyunwoo is stretching and wrenching the delicate fabric. 

A sick feeling rises up in his stomach, sudden and urgent like bile. The thought of Hyunwoo ripping or damaging the grey cardigan around his shoulders makes his heart feel sick, and he pulls away. Hyunwoo chases his mouth greedily and whines when Jinyoung turns his head.

“Stop,” he pants, getting two hands on Hyunwoo’s chest and nudging intently. Hyunwoo ignores him at first, large hands still dangerously rough as he kisses sloppily at Jinyoung’s jaw. “Yah, hyung––” Jinyoung tosses his head back, annoyed, his heart pounding and terrified of how the cardigan looks now after so much strain. But Hyunwoo doesn’t let up, tugging and wriggling it as he works to get it off. “Hyung, I said––”

Hot, anxious anger bubbles up in Jinyoung’s throat. “Yah! Back  _ off!”  _

He shoves against Hyunwoo’s wide chest hard, heart beating wildly as the older male finally realizes he’s being serious and stumbles back.

Hyunwoo’s eyes go wide when he shouts, confused and, if Jinyoung isn’t mistaken, a little miffed. “Yah, Jinyoungie, what’s wrong?” 

“Why weren’t you listening to me?” he says, trying not to sound angry and failing as he speaks through gritted teeth. He reaches both arms back to grab at the sleeves and pull them down and off. “You were seriously yanking on this thing way too hard.”

Still breathing unevenly from their wild kisses, Hyunwoo steps forward to grab it from his hand. But Jinyoung is faster, and he pulls it away and out of Hyunwoo’s reach. The older boy’s eyes flash in annoyance and something else, but Jinyoung is too busy looking at the cardigan where he’s holding it up in front of him. 

“It’s just a cardigan, Jinyoungie, it’s not that big of a deal––”

Without even looking at him, Jinyoung snaps back with a voice loaded with venom. “Of course it’s not a big deal to you, it isn’t  _ yours.” _

He’s probably overreacting, and he knows he’s going to feel bad later for being such an asshole to Hyunwoo over something this stupid. But the anxiety rising in his chest is real, and he painstakingly inspects the shoulders of the knitted grey article without sparing Hyunwoo a glance.

The room is quiet for a minute until Hyunwoo’s voice slices through the silence, flat and toneless. “Is it even  _ yours?”  _

Caught off guard, Jinyoung nearly drops it and looks over. Bewildered, he asks,  _ “what?”  _

“I said, is it even yours? Is that your sweater?” 

Jinyoung opens his mouth to reply but it seems that Hyunwoo has come to a conclusion on his own,

“Or is it Jaebum’s?” 

The breath of opposition dies in Jinyoung’s throat. His fingers curl in the material as his brain frantically scrambles to come up with a response, anything that will either spare him from answering or will satisfy Hyunwoo enough to drop the subject. But apparently Jinyoung’s surprise widened eyes and tell-tale silence gives all the information he needs.

He laughs a little bitterly, and it’s the first time in a long time he’d heard Hyunwoo be anything but unhappy or fun. “I should have known, since you were so worried about ruining it.” 

“It was expensive! I can’t worry about my expensive clothing getting ruined just because you’re horny?” 

“You’re joking, right?” Hyunwoo asks hotly, his cheeks red from anger and maybe embarrassed disappointment. “You’re joking. I know that’s bullshit. You’d never care about a piece of clothing because of the price.” his voice turns ugly and dark. “You care about it because you’re sentimental.” 

While it’s not exactly true, he doesn’t think it’s the right time to comment on it. Again he struggles for the words, something to say that will smooth the situation over but every second of his silence seems to put more nails in his coffin. Hyunwoo just watches him in varying shades of disbelief. It grows with each passing heartbeat, the statute of limitations for an acceptable excuse whizzing past him and leaving him in the dust. Hyunwoo scoffs. 

“Unbelievable.”

The amount of disdain in the single word snaps Jinyoung from his desperate search. His eyebrows furrow, face reddening indignantly. “Unbelievable how?” 

“Unbelievable in that I shouldn’t have known it wasn't going to be this easy with you,” he says angrily, straightening his shirt and patting his pocket to check for his car keys. “I knew it was possible that you weren’t going to be over him, but you said you were and I believed you.”

“I  _ am  _ over him! I already told you there was nothing to get over!” 

Hyunwoo makes an annoyed sound against his teeth. “Save it, Jinyoung-ah. You know, I was kind of wary about all the t-shirts he left here. How you were wearing them every night. I was even kind of jealous because I knew they weren’t yours.” 

“You asked me about those and I told you the truth!” 

The older boy cocks his head dangerously. “Did you tell me the  _ whole  _ truth?” 

_ No.  _ “Yes!” 

He laughs. “I don’t believe you. I thought you’d been keeping them because they were his, and it gave you some piece of him to hold onto after you guys hooked up and didn’t pursue anything else. But you were such a good actor, telling me it’s just because he’d left them there and could get them whenever he wants. But that’s not quite true, right?” 

“Hyung––”

“Which means that the hook up either went terribly all around or the hook up was great but the fallout was bad when you wanted different things. He hasn’t been busy with school, has he? He’s been avoiding you.”

Jinyoung’s heart feels like it’s being crushed to fine powder. His fingers curl painfully in the folds of Jaebum’s grey cardigan. _“Hyung––”_

Hyunwoo sighs. “I’m not stupid, Jinyoungie. Maybe a little, but not completely. Funny thing is, I recognized that sweater from our first date last year. I saw the signs but ignored them because I thought you were being honest with me. As it turns out you’re just  _ such _ a good actor.”

The idea of loss shouldn’t be so foreign to him now, but it still hurts like a knife in his gut when Hyunwoo just shakes his head miserably. Jinyoung watches with watery eyes as the older male runs both of his hands through his hair and sighs again, heavier this time; a mix of exasperation and defeat. He’s half turned to walk out when he spins to face Jinyoung again. 

“You’ll never  _ really  _ be mine, right? We could date for years and get married but you’d still belong to him. Wouldn’t you?” 

The canyon in his chest widens; ice blows through like wind and eviscerates his insides. He feels hollowed out and dull, a grinning jack-o-lantern but instead of a smile there’s a permanent look of heartache carved onto his face. “He was my best friend.”

It’s not the answer either of them had wanted or needed, but it’s the truth, and they needed that most of all. 

_ “ _ Answer the question. Honestly.” 

Jinyoung can almost feel the way his knees knock together as his whole body shakes, hands curled to fists, vision blurred with tears. “I don’t want to lose you, too, hyung.”

The look on his face drops and it’s sad; so, so sad. “Just be honest and maybe you won’t.” 

Will he ever belong to anyone but Jaebum?  _ Has  _ he ever belonged to anyone but Jaebum? In the silence between someone else leaving him standing in his doorway, he thinks of all the one night stands and hook-ups and random strings of boyfriends he’d had over the years in the attempt to keep his feelings for Jaebum at bay. He thinks of how they never lasted: there was always some deeper, nagging feeling that kept him from committing, how being claimed and “locked down” was  _ never my style, babe, sorry.  _ He thinks of how all the times he’d dated off and on for years he always just had some criticism or comparison that inevitably lead him back to Jaebum.  _ They’re not funny like you, hyung,  _ or  _ he had moles but they weren’t as cute or interesting as yours, hyung  _ or  _ I don’t know, he just wasn’t my type.  _

He swallows, a dry click like an empty gun. 

“Yes,” he says, finality like a slammed door. Hyunwoo closes his eyes. “I would.” 

Unlike Jaebum, Hyunwoo doesn’t need the last word. He just turns, closing the door behind him with a quiet click and leaving Jinyoung shut up in the silence of an apartment he still isn’t quite used to. He hears the door of Hyunwoo’s car slam downstairs and the screech of tires on the pavement; headlights wash over the windowsill and away as Hyunwoo drives off. He had ruined this, too, it seems, with seemingly no effort at all.

After making sure the cardigan wasn’t ripped or stretched out, he folds it carefully and hides it away in the back of his closet. 

 

******

 

_ Fall. Winter. Spring. The beginning of a record hot summer. The fever dream kaleidoscope of seasons that pinwheel and morph across his closed eyes. The reds and oranges of fall bleed into whites and crisp blues of winter; blues and whites become pinks and yellows and that shade of aquamarine just before it’s bleached to the no-color of clouds. The days since he’d last seen Jinyoung in the living room of his house marched on like soldiers in formation and no matter how much he got on his knees and begged they would not stop.  _

_ It’s amazing to him just how much time he seemed to have lost in the months that have passed since the last time they’d seen each other; what could very well be the last time they see each other for the rest of their lives. It seems so naive to think so: the city is huge but it is not  _ that  _ big; their friend circle has remained the same though the five of them seem to know how to navigate the jagged pit of glass that has become the fault line of their broken relationship. Time spent dwelling on the loss of seven to a rotation of 6 was kept to a minimum as Jaebum was always the first to leave the room when he heard Jinyoung’s name.  _

_ While the months soldiered on despite his silent protests, the feeling of missing Jinyoung like a severed limb did not disappear. In fact, every passing day makes it worse, the constant rubbing of dirty salt in a gaping wound. But over time it settled, squashed underneath the desperate need to forget that settled in next to his heartache like a savage animal. Empty passion in his eyes, he prowled in the long left behind clubs and bars of his youth for a willing partner. It became an obsessive tendency, the insatiable desire to forget Jinyoung’s face as he kissed and groped a stranger in a deafening club.   _

_ But he was never good at acting. He pretended this worked for weeks until he realized that it didn’t help him forget Jinyoung to get under or on top of someone else. Just like it didn’t work the first time, it won’t work now, and every one night stand is met with some black shroud of guilt and shame. Every body that ends up on top of him or underneath his hands is the same body from months ago, a familiar honey voice like the sound of coming home. _

_ Jaebum sighs. He gets up from where he’d been sitting on the edge of his bed and staring at the floor, thoughts chasing themselves around in his head like impatient dogs. His room is a mess: after he tired of the one night stands, partners that he’d see multiple times before bailing on became more frequent. They rarely spent the night but sometimes clothes were abandoned on rushed mornings out the door; a jacket here or a shirt there, a pair of socks, a lacy bra that he’d immediately shoved to the back of his dresser with an aching stomach. Fucking people for fun and being emotionally detached isn’t the greatest way to spend his sorrow but it keeps him on his toes instead of sleeping for days on end, so he rolls his shoulders and carries on.  _

_ He cleans his room slowly, trying to take up as much of the day as possible. Anything to make the time pass quicker, though he doesn’t know how that’s going to help; sometimes when the thinks of the way he might never see Jinyoung again, the days stretch on into an infinite blackness that he stares down like the barrel of a gun. Clothes are picked up and sorted to be laundered or, if he’s not sure of the owner, tossed in the trash. He makes his bed and picks up the various reading material strewn about his room, taking to reading the same books over and over just to give his hands something to do when they’re not occupied with someone else.  _

_ He’s giving one last look by his bed, sweeping underneath it with an arm to catch any remaining items before he sweeps and mops the floor. The sharp corner of a book stabs his forearm, and he hisses quietly before sliding it out. Before he even pulls it out from underneath his bed to hold it in his hands he knows what it is, and he sits down on his knees when he drags the thin volume into the light. _

_ It’s the book of poetry Jinyoung had given him and that he’d subsequently destroyed in his angst-ridden rampage the day they’d fought after they had sex. His heart thumps achingly at the sight of the bent pages, some torn and folded from where he’d thrown it against the wall. The blood staining the pages has dried to a rusty, ugly brown and he looks away from the broken pages to the thin white lines on his knuckles. The scars on his hand are slowly sinking back into the skin, but the reminder of his agony is tattooed on the white pages with blood.  _

_ God, he feels like crying. He tries to flatten out the bent corners but it’s no use: they’re all so damaged from where he’d first knocked over the shelf and then thrown it against the concrete wall over his bed. He wonders what Jinyoung would say if he saw it, how disappointment would pull his pouty mouth into a frown as he took the book from Jaebum’s hands and flipped through it.  _ I can’t believe you ruined it like this, hyung,  _ he would say, all tsk-tsk like a burdened mother. The words, though a made up scenario, feel too real and he swallows against the sharp corner of pain in his throat.  _

_ He wishes, more than anything, that he could just call Jinyoung. He almost did; the night he’d found out that he and Hyunwoo had gotten together, somewhat officially  _ (Nothing is ever official, hyung,  _ Bambam had said to him with a not-so-comforting hand on his shoulder and a beer in the other,  _ not with him).  _ He remembers how he’d left the bar early, complaining of a stomach ache that wasn’t entirely faked as he waited on the curb for a taxi and tried not to puke all over the sidewalk. The image of Jinyoung moving on so easily, of going back to Hyunwoo, getting over him so fast and parading it around like it was nothing made him want to step out into traffic. He’d leaned his head against the window with his eyes closed, images of Jinyoung and Hyunwoo together torturing the front of his brain until he was deposited outside his apartment building. He’d pounded up the stairs, immediately drinking all of the beer in his fridge and getting dangerously drunk.  _

_ He’d sat on his couch and stared at his phone in his left hand for what felt like hours. Jinyoung’s name was pulled up on the screen, the small circle in the upper left corner a photo of the two of them with their cheeks squished together to fit in frame. His heart beat sluggishly, agonized and dying as he gripped the neck of a glass beer bottle in his other hand. The number displayed was as familiar as his own heartbeat; he could dial it by touch tone if he so desired. Their tiny faces reflected back at him taunted him, reminded him of what could have been, what they almost had. He wanted to call Jinyoung then and scream at him, tell him how much he loves him, how stupid they’ve both been. He wanted to call Jinyoung and fall asleep to the sound of his voice like he’d done a million times over but he knew deep in his heart that it was likely he would never answer. So he’d just set the beer down on the table, deleted his contact from his phonebook, and passed out on the couch instead. _

_ That was a long time ago, though. The urge to call Jinyoung never leaves but it is at least more manageable, an itch he can’t scratch but one he can forget about if he focuses hard enough. His fingertips have turned white where he’s gripping the pages of the book so hard. He stares at it for a while longer: how had he missed it so easily? All their lives Jinyoung had been a hopeless romantic; romcoms made him cry way too much to be normal and large public displays from other couples always had him sighing wistfully. Jinyoung wasn’t ever one for underhanded confessions but subtly was a different story; in trying to toe the boundaries of their friendship he had hidden his grand gesture inside of a book inside of someone else’s words and he had missed it entirely. He had given Jaebum the quiet confession that he’d needed and yet still held out hope for the grand romantic admission that he’d so desperately wanted but Jaebum just never knew how. The book makes a noise as his fingertips bend the already broken spine of the book and he’s about to just throw it back on the bookshelf when he’s startled out of his thoughts by a knocking on the door. _

_ Brows furrowed, he absentmindedly hangs on to the book as he gets up to answer the door. He can’t remember expecting anyone; it’s just barely past noon in the middle of the week in summer and he doesn’t remember making any plans. His heartbeat resumes its normal, tired beating as he throws the latch and opens the door. _

_ Immediately a pair of arms is sliding around his neck, a familiar face coming at his quickly and covering his mouth with a wild kiss. He’s a little startled, but the shock soon fades as he realizes it’s the boy he’s been messing around with lately. The blond boy is a little taller than him, leaning down and angling his head to part Jaebum’s lips with an insistent tongue. He laughs, caught off guard, and kicks the door closed as the tall boy from the club starts to back him up to his bedroom.  _

_ “Hi,” Jaebum murmurs against his mouth, one hand flat against the expanse of his chest and the other gripping the poetry book.  _

_ “I’ve missed you,” he says, and the sentiment is uttered between desperate kisses that Jaebum guesses is somewhat true. The boy, older than him, pushes Jaebum toward the bed, mouthing wet and warm along his jawline as his hands wander down Jaebum’s body. His skin reacts, drawing up in goosebumps from prodding fingers and whispered words against the shell of his ear as the belt is pulled from his jeans. Jaebum doesn’t return his sentiment, instead letting his back hit the bed with a grunt and a breathless laugh. One hand comes up to grab the blond boy’s hair, the other quickly reaching down to elicit a noise of pleasure so deep it settles in Jaebum’s bones like lead. _

_ Just like always, his eyes slip closed when the prodding fingers turn gentle, gripping him firmly and pulling little moans from his half-opened mouth. Against his eyelids there’s no one else to see him as he juxtaposes the shape of Jinyoung’s body over his, every nerve ending alight with how much he misses the warmth of the boy he loves so terribly. Every punched out breath is just out of pitch, Jinyoung’s moans and hiccuped  _ hyung, hyung, Jaebum hyung  _ playing over in his head on a loop.  _

_ As the boy on top of him starts to quicken his hands, the book slides from his fingers to lay back hidden under his dusty bed right beside his broken heart. _

 


	14. xiv. heartbeats

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hi!! only 2 chapters away from the end now ^^ 
> 
> just to clarify: the first section is a flashback, the first part is from jinyoung's POV, but it switches to jaebum's POV half way through. for sake of keeping you in the moment, it's not in italics, but ((hopefully i did an okay job of)) it's obvious when it switches. 
> 
> [here's a nice tune for atmosphere in case you need it](https://youtu.be/HxJhYpTIrl8) :') or [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=zHvt36j2dpo) :') 
> 
> chil: i love you

 

_ “What do you want?”  _

_ He already knew, but asked anyway. That was nice of him. Truth be told, he never expected Jaebum to answer the door. He hadn’t been for the last three weeks; hadn’t been answering his phone calls or replied to their friends when Jinyoung had attempted to reach him through thinly veiled group text messages. It seemed as though Jaebum’s anger had no limit and so when he answered the door and asked what he wanted despite already knowing, Jinyoung was surprised. _

_ The look of shock had been comical, he’s sure. Jaebum’s lips had twitched just so at the corners like he wanted to smile, but held out in favor of being angry for just a few more moments. Jinyoung had smiled, though, victorious––it seemed Jaebum’s anger had a limit, after all. _

_ “I don’t know,” he’d said, still smiling slightly, “I wasn’t expecting you to answer.” _

_ For the first time in three weeks, he heard Jaebum laugh. The smile on his face spread wider, ushered in the door with an unnecessary hand on his back as though he didn’t know the way. A warmth in his chest had spread at the familiarity of the gesture: it was Jinyoung’s second nature to know that Jaebum often sought physical comfort in the expressions that weren’t needed; a hand on his back in the doorway, the tugging of his sleeve waiting for the bus, the toes of his shoes to an exposed ankle underneath a school desk during exams. Normalcy returned to the space between them like water poured in the dry soil of a flower pot.  _

_ Jaebum had leaned against the wall with his arms crossed over his chest while Jinyoung had flopped down on his couch. Their eyes held the whole way, confident in their silent communication:  _

Is this fight really over or do you have more to say? 

Yes. It’s over. I forgive you. 

_ But even still it hadn’t felt like enough. Jinyoung sighed. _

_ “Hyung. I’m really sorry.”  _

_ Jaebum mirrored the sigh; to anyone else it would have sounded mocking but to them it was just another manifestation of their connection. “For what?”  _

_ “For being such a dick about everything. It’s really not that big of a deal.” _

_ Had Jaebum’s eyes changed, or his posture stiffened in that moment, Jinyoung didn’t notice. Jinyoung had simply assumed that it  _ wasn’t  _ a big deal, that, now that the fight was over, there wasn’t anything else to discuss. It never occurred to him in his ripe 20 years that maybe, just maybe, there was a conversation to be continued. _

_ But Jaebum had just stared back at him, not giving him an answer this way or that. His feelings were on the table; Jinyoung had confronted him about the possibility of being in love and Jaebum had said yes. But he’d said it quickly, painfully; a confession yanked from him like pulling teeth. It didn’t seem like he wanted to say it, like it was forced, and the three weeks they were apart left him wondering if he’d only said yes because it seemed like the right thing to say. For three weeks he had poured over every interaction they’d ever had over the course of their friendship but none stuck out to him: the memories he had that could have indicated something more were only tainted with his feelings toward Jaebum and thus could not be trusted to give him the truth of Jaebum’s own feelings. He held each memory over the fire in the hopes that something would come to him but nothing did; the roaming hands and the late night whispers and lingering looks were as brotherly as they’d always been and overly friendly at most. Even the kiss they shared at fifteen seemed one sided––Jaebum had been nervous like himself but it seemed more out of fear of getting caught than kissing a boy he liked. _

_ So he’d come out of three weeks of searching and hoping empty handed. Laid out on Jaebum’s couch like this with the older boy watching him like a hawk, he had felt his heart thump eagerly but swallowed against the way he wanted to prod for more:  _ do you really love me?  _ How _ do you love me? How much? 

_ But there just never seemed to be a good time. He was afraid to face another round of Jaebum’s wrath if he poked at the wounds again. The conversation didn’t feel over but there was a finality in the way that Jaebum had slammed his bedroom door that day that had indicated more questions would be unwelcome. Jinyoung had been too afraid to lose him forever to break the thin skin that had healed over a three week sore just to settle the own restless pacing of his heart. _

_ Jaebum had rolled his eyes. “You’re right. It’s not a big deal. Sorry for yelling at you.”  _

_ “It’s okay.”  _

_ Silence had mounted between them, eyes held, but no argument came. They smiled in unison the same way they had done countless times over two decades. The fight had ended; the  _ i’m sorrys  _ and  _ it’s okays  _ had been exchanged and thus the line of questioning was closed. Jaebum had grinned as he flounced his body on top of Jinyoung’s, laughing when Jinyoung had felt the air forced from his chest at the weight of Jaebum’s body on his. Wheezing laughter and weak attempts to shove Jaebum to the floor of his apartment sealed up the hurt they’d caused each other with a layer of gloss and shoved away to never be examined again.  _

_ When Jinyoung had gone home later that night, he had wondered if Jaebum would have accepted his confession then. If Jaebum would believe that he loved him, too, or if he would have denied it and insisted that they’d never work. _

_ But the wondering was useless. The moment had passed.  _

  
  


******

  
  


It took a couple of weeks, but eventually Hyunwoo got over whatever lingering feelings he had about Jinyoung still being attached to Jaebum and thus Jaebum’s things that had been left behind. Jinyoung had resigned himself to the radio silence; he’d only tried to reach out to Hyunwoo once or twice and felt almost nothing when he was ignored. Nothing could possibly hurt as much as losing Jaebum but the sting of rejection never really loses its edge. 

Nevertheless, he’d yielded to the thought that he’d ruined something else in his life that was going moderately well, and was surprised when Hyunwoo had called him. 

“Jinyoung-ah?” 

“Yes?” he’d said, questioningly, afraid to showcase any emotion on either side of the scale lest his reason for calling being the opposite. 

Hyunwoo had sighed on the other end, and Jinyoung couldn’t help but smile; knowing him for so long he knew that sigh and knew what was coming next: 

“I’m sorry for being such an asshole.”

“It’s not your fault. I’m the asshole. I shouldn’t have been so uptight about the cardigan.”

“Maybe,” he’d said, and Jinyoung could imagine perfectly the way Hyunwoo probably dropped his chin into his large hand. “But I shouldn’t have gotten so upset about it. Even though you lied to me, I have to remember that you guys were friends for a long time, and that’s not something you can get over really easily.”

“Hyung––”

“Wait, let me finish. I will admit to being jealous of him. I like you a lot, Jinyoung-ah. I kind of always have. I was always really jealous that he seemed to have all your attention and that it couldn’t have belonged to anyone else but him, especially when I felt like he didn’t deserve it.” 

Jinyoung had felt a lump in his throat and tried to swallow it as Hyunwoo went on, 

“And I’m still jealous of him. I’m sure I’ll always be pretty jealous of him, that he could have someone as attractive and amazing like you hung up on him. And maybe you should have been honest with me from the start, but I did believe you when you said you liked me. That wasn’t a lie, right?” 

“No,” he said, because it wasn’t. He  _ does  _ like Hyunwoo. He likes Hyunwoo a lot. Hyunwoo is handsome and smart and funny; he’s kind and sweeter than sugar and good in bed. But Jinyoung doesn’t  _ love  _ him. Jinyoung is incapable of loving anyone who doesn’t look, feel, and sound like Im Jaebum. “It really wasn’t.”

The smile was practically visible in his voice. “Then that’s all that matters to me.” 

“Hyung––”

“Really, Jinyoungie. I get it. I know you’re not over him, and I know you probably won’t ever be, because you guys were a part of each other’s lives for a long, long time. But as long as I know you like me for me, I think I can live with that.” 

“Hyunwoo, you don’t need to do this––”

“Shut up, Jinyoungie, and get dressed. We’re going out.” 

And that had been the end of it. Hyunwoo had picked him up, taken him on a date, and then laid him out on his bed and fucked his lights out. Despite knowing how Jinyoung feels about Jaebum, and knowing that there’s a possibility that Jinyoung will never, ever lose those feelings, Hyunwoo still chose to come back to him. In spite of all the terrible, awful parts of Jinyoung, Hyunwoo chose to hang on to the good ones and take him back, regardless of what may come of it in the end. 

Jinyoung wondered, and wonders still, if he’d ever deserve someone so forgiving.

He doesn't think so.

 

******

  
  


Another month has passed, and the summer continues to swell like blood underneath a blister. Jinyoung is drenched in sweat before they even reach the restaurant, having stupidly chosen to walk instead of catch the bus or take a cab.

He pulls at the front of his shirt repeatedly, fanning in warm air to try and cool the sweat dripping down his chest. Hyunwoo looks equally as miserable, though the perspiration on his arms and neck looks annoyingly handsome instead of disgusting and offensive like it does on him.

“This was such a stupid idea,” he whines, sticking his tongue out like a dog as if that will help him cool down at all. Hyunwoo just looks down and laughs at him, stumbling when Jinyoung sends an irate elbow into his ribs. 

“Hey,” he protests, falling back in step and pushing the hair off his sweaty forehead with one hand, “this was  _ your  _ idea.” 

The restaurant comes into view, and Jinyoung quickly prays that it isn’t a mirage as the heat just mounts. His thoughts feel scattered after just thirty minutes of walking in the heat; though the sun is just a burning half circle of oversaturated tangerine in a rising line of navy, calidity still has the rubber soles of his shoes baking on the pavement. Jeans and a short sleeve shirt is way too much to be wearing but his conservative nature bars him from exposing his calves and biceps the way Hyunwoo seems to do easily (if not a little boastfully). He wants to roll his eyes but can barely find the energy to do so. 

“Let’s just hurry up, yeah?” 

Hyunwoo grins at him as he pulls the glass door open and holds it so Jinyoung can slip inside. “Eager to see the drink menu, Jinyoungie?” 

He looks over his shoulder with a sly smile. “How else am I going to survive the heat?” 

Now that they’re inside, the air conditioning feels heavenly. Jinyoung stops halfway through the small lobby to stand underneath a vent, eyes closed and head tilted toward the ceiling to let the cold air blow over his face. There’s no one at the host’s stand, and the lobby is quiet save for the low chatter of patrons on the other side of the frosted glass wall. Hyunwoo steps up behind him, brave now that they’re safe from the heat and Jinyoung won’t pull away with an irritated whine. Two hands slide to hold onto his hips and he shudders from something besides the chilled sweat on his skin when he feels Hyunwoo’s heart shaped lips at his ear. 

“You could start by taking off your clothes.”

Jinyoung has to bite down a groan; the offer is certainly appealing and a hot burst of lust goes rushing down his legs like the drop in a rollercoaster. He goes to reply just as the hostess arrives, so he opts to make an indignant noise and slap his forearm instead. 

Upon Jinyoung’s insistence, they score a booth toward the corner of the restaurant that has Hyunwoo’s back to the large glass wall overlooking the patio. The sweat on their faces and neck slowly dries in the relentless blast of the air conditioning, and Jinyoung immediately orders a drink to warm up.

Hyunwoo laughs as she leaves with their drink orders. “Already?”

“Hey,” he whines, pushing out his bottom lip in his patented pout. “Let me live a little, you know?”

Jinyoung watches the line of Hyunwoo’s ultra broad shoulders as they go up and down in a playful shrug. “Hey, I’m not going to stop you. As long as you don't start complaining about wanting a jacket, we’re good.”

Offended, Jinyoung makes a sound against his teeth and reaches across the table to unsuccessfully jab at Hyunwoo’s arm. “Yah! Who are you talking about complaining, punk?” 

The whites of Hyunwoo’s eyes are suddenly visible as they widen in shock. “Did you just disrespect me?”

He had done it accidentally on purpose, but has the decency to slide down in his seat a little and look cowed. A heavy flush lines his cheeks in red. “Sorry, hyung. I was just teasing.”

Hyunwoo offers the waitress a blinding smile as she comes back with their drinks, but it doesn't slip even as he focuses it on Jinyoung. “I know. So was I.”

Adoringly exasperated, Jinyoung sits up in his seat and kicks Hyunwoo lightly in the ankle. His hyung pretends to be wounded, jumping slightly and reaching down to hold the offending injury and pout like he's seriously wounded. The pout disappears and is replaced with a gut-wrenchingly real smile Jinyoung doesn't think he deserves after Jinyoung blows him a kiss. 

“You know,” Hyunwoo says, turning his attention away from the menu after a few minutes of silence. “If you had asked me back then if I ever thought I'd be on a date with you, old me would have laughed in your face.”

Jinyoung takes a sip of his mixed drink, already feeling a bit warm in the face by number two. He licks his lips and sets it down. “Oh yeah?”

“Definitely,” Hyunwoo nods and distracts himself momentarily to give his order. He waits until Jinyoung is done with his before folding his large hands on the table top. “Even at such a young age you were so standoffish.”

He chokes a little.  _ “Standoffish?” _

He laughs, hands up defensively. “Okay, maybe not standoffish. Unavailable.” 

Jinyoung swallows roughly against the burn from the alcohol going down the wrong pipe. He can't help but realize that it's a little unfair: Hyunwoo is so honest, an open book on the table that never gets closed. He's nothing like himself: Jinyoung chooses his words carefully, deliberately; Hyunwoo says the words that come first and they mean exactly what he intends them to the first time he speaks them. It offers him a sort of dignified naivete that Jinyoung always coveted and never achieved. 

“We were just kids, hyung, of course I seemed unavailable. I didn’t even understand the concept of feelings.” 

“No,” Hyunwoo says, and Jinyoung is about to get angry when Hyunwoo calms him with a smile. “Relax. I’m not trying to tell you how you felt. Maybe ‘unavailable’ is the wrong word.” he thinks for a moment, eyes squinted into half moons as he inspects Jinyoung’s face. A moment later he sits up straight with a snap. “Reserved! That’s a better word. You were so reserved. But not for him.”

_ Him  _ meaning Jaebum, of course, and Jinyoung bristles a little. It had been a few weeks since they talked about him, and since the last time had gone so terribly, he’s a little wary to have it brought up. But even in admitting it, Hyunwoo doesn’t seem upset or even fazed by it––he says it as though he’s just reciting simple fact, and the thought of it makes him feel slightly ill. He’s not sure what to say back: Hyunwoo doesn’t seem like he’s done talking about it, and if Jinyoung has learned anything in the past half year, it’s that he should start listening.

The conversation lulls a little as the waitress brings their food and Jinyoung’s fourth drink. Feeling uneasy, Jinyoung picks anxiously at his salad and downs the whiskey and coke he’d ordered and regrets it a bit when his vision swims. Hyunwoo eats quietly for a moment, picking endearingly through his own salad for the tomatoes to eat those first. It’s quiet as he chews thoughtfully, watching Jinyoung’s face while he does.

Finally, he swallows and sets his fork down. “He was the same way, you know.” 

Jinyoung blinks. “What do you mean?” 

“Reserved. He was just as reserved as you, if not more so.” 

Feeling a bit dizzy now, Jinyoung feels the heartache slice off a bit and he finds himself snorting humorously at the observation. “That’s true. I wasn’t exactly the warmest person all the time, but Jaebum hyung was downright  _ icy  _ growing up. I never saw it,” he says, shrugging and shoving a forkful of lettuce in his mouth. “But everyone else did. Any of our mutual friends growing up were surprised that I could tolerate being around him so much when he could be such an asshole.”

Hyunwoo grins. “But he was never an asshole to you, right?” 

Jinyoung barks a laugh and earns them a couple of glances. “Yeah, right! He was a dick to me all the time, but the difference between me and them is that I knew how to handle it, and knew how to push back. Jaebum grew out of it eventually, but he was as obnoxious like an older brother would have been. Especially since he never had siblings.”

Hyunwoo raises an eyebrow. “He doesn’t have any siblings?”

The table seems to sway under his watery vision.  _ Fuck I’ve had way too much to drink.  _ “No. He’s an only child. He can really act like one, too.”

“Huh. Dahyun said he had an older sister.” 

Jinyoung swallows around the food in his mouth before answering. “Dahyun?” 

Dahyun is a girl they’d known in high school, a couple of years younger than them and who lived at the end of their street. It had been a well-known fact that he had a massive crush on Jaebum; in fact, it was hard pressed to find someone who  _ didn’t.  _ Especially as he got older and filled out, the girls in their classes were swooning over him more and more. Dahyun had always been a bit more special than the rest; despite his claims that he never had any type of feelings for her, he doted on her like he might a younger sister. 

Which is why Hyunwoo’s reply of “he told her” is so surprising. 

“Why would he tell her that? Why would she believe it? She grew up at the end of our street.” 

Hyunwoo shrugs. “Beats me. She was younger than you guys, and you guys were never in the same schools for long since you’re older. Maybe she’d forgotten.”

“I still don’t get why he’d lie, though.” 

“That’s just what she told me,” Hyunwoo says, and shovels another forkful of salad in his mouth to talk around it. “Jihyo told me the same thing.” 

Now he’s  _ really  _ confused. “Jihyo? Who’s that?” 

“One of Dahyun’s friends. They go to uni together, and when I was talking to Dahyun last week, she asked me if Jaebum had a sister. Which was super random, her asking about Jaebum, but as far as I remembered he didn’t, so I told her no. Then she got really upset.”

Something doesn’t feel right, and Jinyoung has to grip the edge of the table with one hand to keep him from leaning too far and tumbling out of the booth. The edges of his vision are watery and unfocused, the alcohol focusing everything at the center and making it hyper sharp. The way Hyunwoo shrugs one shoulder dismissively and looks at him over his glass feels like a paradox of too fast and too slow.

“She told me that she’d slept with Jaebum recently and he’d said he had a sister. She seemed to remember that he didn’t, and asked him about it, but she said he was really convincing and then he’d asked her to come home with him so she’d completely forgotten about it. But then Jihyo had called her, wanting to tell her all about  _ her  _ night with Jaebum, which made them get in a fight about them both sleeping with him. But then they’d found out that Jaebum had said something about his sister when he’d started to talk to them, and Dahyun got suspicious so she called me to ask––Jinyoung, you don’t look so good. Are you alright?” 

Had he been capable of answering he would have said  _ fuck no, I’m not alright  _ but instead just nods his head. Hyunwoo asks him again, but his deep voice fades out underneath the violent buzzing in his head as he closes his eyes.  _ Jaebum’s slept with Dahyun? Then slept with someone named Jihyo?  _ It feels like a joke, but Hyunwoo hadn’t laughed when he’d said it and neither had he. Hyunwoo had delivered the information like he would have something mundane like the weather: casually, easily, swept under the rug as the next sentence came and offered something more important. But Jinyoung’s mind, drunk as he is, had snagged viciously on the details: Jaebum had slept with not one but  _ two  _ people? In such a short amount of time, it seems, which could mean he’s been getting around quite a bit in the last seven months. 

He swallows over and over around the sick that wants to crawl up his throat but he refuses to make a scene. Every nerve ending burns like a dull flame, numbed by the alcohol but still tender as Hyunwoo’s words sear each and every one as they repeat over and over.  _ She’d slept with Jaebum recently. Wanting to tell her all about  _ her  _ night with Jaebum.  _ Two separate events in what sounds like a short span of time, Jaebum clearly enjoying his newfound disconnect from Jinyoung by sticking his dick in anything that moves. He’s reminded viciously of the night they’d had sex for the first time: how Jaebum could barely breathe around how happy he was, his handsome face no longer shadowed by the grief he’d been carrying but instead lit up from the inside with joy. How his hands had roamed and gripped and touched while his mouth blabbered on about love. How distant that night seems now, buried under booze and time and heartache. 

He laughs, but it’s an awful, broken sound. Hyunwoo looks surprised across the table, but Jinyoung is too busy squeezing his eyes closed so the room stops spinning to see it. It’s funny in the way that it is the  _ opposite _ of funny how their roles are completely reversed now––in high school it had been Jinyoung sleeping around, willing to give in to anyone who was willing to take it, burying his feelings for Jaebum under the hands and mouths of other boys while Jaebum trudged along beside him and endured.  _ Oh, how the tables have turned! _

“Jinyoungie, are you alright? You look like you’re going to be sick––”

His eyes open fast. “I want another drink.”

Hyunwoo looks sad, but Jinyoung is too selfish and too terrible to care. “You shouldn’t. You already don’t look well.”

Jinyoung’s chest feels tight as he flags the waitress down and orders another two whiskey and cokes under the pretense of getting one for his date but fully intending to down both of them when they arrive. Hyunwoo attempts to grab his wrist across the table for comfort, but he jerks it away and hits his elbow against the back of the booth with a dull  _ thud.  _ Several people look over and Hyunwoo apologizes awkwardly with a blush on his face.

“What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing,” he lies, teeth gritted, and nods in silent thanks to the waitress who quickly disappears like she senses the tension. One drink goes down and then the other, a shaky hand spilling some of the amber liquid down the front of his black t-shirt. 

“Alright,” Hyunwoo says, and it’s the first time he’s sounded angry since their fight about the sweater. “That’s enough. We’re going.” 

Jinyoung attempts to argue but knows it’s useless as Hyunwoo throws money on the table and pulls him from the booth by the arm. People are definitely staring as Jinyoung stumbles, face flushed in an indignant red as Hyunwoo marches him from the restaurant. The space between them is strung tight like a bow; Hyunwoo’s fingers dig roughly into his upper arm as he yanks him through the front door and out onto the street. The tension stacks like weight on his shoulders as Hyunwoo holds him upright with one hand and calls a cab with the other. 

“We can just walk, we walked here,” Jinyoung slurs, but Hyunwoo is having none of it and he gets ignored. His stomach rolls and turns restlessly while they wait, trying to pull his arm from Hyunwoo’s vice grip to run blindly home before the tears can well in public. 

Hyunwoo hangs up more aggressively than necessary and doesn’t look at him. “I want to make sure you get home alright. I’m not carrying you home, as much as you’d enjoy it.”

He’s not sure if it’s an attempt at a joke or an honest barb, so he doesn’t comment on it. He just sways in place as they wait, eyes cast down on the dark asphalt and wondering if it had rained while they were inside or if he’s started to cry, after all. 

The cab ride is silent as Hyunwoo sits as far away from him as possible. Jinyoung just closes his eyes and leans his head against the window, the news that Hyunwoo had delivered so carelessly still circling around his head like vultures, picking and clawing at the dying reasoning in his brain. The stiffness of the ride is lost on him despite how short it is, and he lets himself be manhandled from the cab and pulled up the stairs to his apartment. Hyunwoo doesn’t say a word the entire time he gets Jinyoung’s keys from his pocket and Jinyoung knows he deserves it: he deserves everything, every awful silence and if Hyunwoo had any, every awful word. But his boyfriend just unlocks the door in terse silence, his heart shaped lips flattened into a tight line of worry and anger as he gets Jinyoung inside. 

He doesn’t even realize that he’s crying until Hyunwoo is sitting him down on the bed after taking off his jeans; he’s kneeled between Jinyoung’s thighs and he feels a thumb swiping at his cheeks. Hyunwoo murmurs words of comfort under his breath and he doesn’t deserve them, he’ll never deserve them; they come faster and angrier as Hyunwoo continues to offer him the relief he has never been worthy of. 

“Lay down, Jinyoung-ah,” he says calmly, and Jinyoung has no right to disobey. He lays down on his side, the tears still coming, the thought of Jaebum moving on and moving on and moving on fresh and bleeding like a knife wound. Hyunwoo smooths back the hair from his forehead, putting his cellphone on the bedside table and kissing him softly on the forehead. “I know you’re sad. But it’s going to be okay. Call me tomorrow when you feel better.” 

It’s not fair. And it will never be fair. Jinyoung watches the shadow of Hyunwoo’s retreating back as he locks the door of Jinyoung’s studio apartment from the inside. His one last look of worry and sorrow is illuminated by the lamplight from outside that permeates the room with a whitish glow. The door closes behind him and then he is left in the puddle of tears that collects underneath his eyes and the silence of loneliness. 

Emotion is vile; love is a vicious mistress and he hates her as he sits up in his bed. His shaking hand swipes his phone off his dresser and unlocks it, the screen too bright in the darkness of his agony. The contact he’s looking for is long gone; he’d deleted it in a fit of rage not long after the useless Christmas text he’d gotten. But even as he’d done so as an attempt to let go, his fingers never forgot the pattern of Jaebum’s number. They shake as though he’d been left in bitter cold, and his heart thumps a frantic pattern against the fragile bones of his chest. He puts the phone to his ear while the line rings––

  
  
  
  


––and squeezes his eyes shut. Jaebum had been staring at a computer screen for the majority of the day, trying to waste time he didn’t want to use thinking about Jinyoung to edit old photos from his camera instead. The day had dragged on and on; the blond boy he’d been hanging around with lately (read: fucking) hasn’t hit him up in a couple of days and he’s starting to get restless. Not because he misses him, of course, but long periods of time without action gives Jaebum too much time to think. At least when he’s blowing or getting blown there’s not a whole lot of room for much else. 

Except that he’s always imagining Jinyoung’s slender body under his hands and mouth regardless of who he’s actually with, so it’s not like the action really helps that much, anyway.

He sighs.

Distressed and weary with eye strain, he turns off the monitor of his computer and digs the heels of his hands into his eyes. The pressure feels good, sore enough to burst; he wonders if being blind would do him any good but realizes he’s already seen Jinyoung naked so it wouldn’t really make a difference.

Jaebum laughs bitterly. It’s not precisely funny; most things that have to do with Jinyoung now a days aren’t. Despite having someone that is his polar opposite to occupy Jaebum’s time, it still doesn’t seem like enough. None of it was enough. All of the effort he’d put forth in the wake of their pseudo-breakup to forget about him had been useless and stupid. Was there any way he’d ever forget about Park Jinyoung? Their lives had always been so intricately wound together; there was scarcely a memory that didn’t involve Jinyoung in some way, save for the recent ones. The clubs and bars that he had prowled in his youth became new second homes for him in the last year: nights passed quicker when he had a body to claim, and he naively thought that it would work this time even though it had not worked the first. Granted Hayeon had seen right through him; the girls and guys he took home or went home with couldn’t see the grief hanging off of him like an old tattered sweater and didn’t care. 

Once he starts to think about Jinyoung it’s hard to stop. It’s strange to think of how much time has passed since he’s seen his face; oftentimes in dreams he hears his voice and wakes up craving it. He wonders if he’s forgotten what it sounds like: it’s hard to conjure up the sound of it on command, but his heart thumps and his breath catches painfully when he realizes that he’d recognize any single part of Jinyoung even blind; in death. It’s been something like seven months but it feels like so much more when he thinks of just how much the time between them has translated itself into space.  And yet instead of trying to fix it, he wonders if it can  _ be  _ fixed, the perpetual licking of a wound that ceases to heal. He wonders if Jinyoung feels the same––

The loud buzzing of his cellphone on his desk jars him out of his thoughts. He jumps, head coming up out of where he’d had it balanced in his hands as his thoughts ran away from him. The room is dark save for the small lamp by his bedside, and the glow of his screen seems too bright as his eyes adjust. 

Without looking at it, he picks up and holds the phone to his ear with his shoulder as he leans back in his desk chair. A fake cockiness overtakes him, one eyebrow raised to no one in particular as he imagines the handsome face on the other end of the line that is no doubt desperate to be let in.

“It’s a little bit late to be calling me for a fuck, Won _ ho,”  _ he says, emphasizing the last part in their shared joke. 

But the pretty boy he’d met in the club weeks prior doesn’t laugh that silky laugh like he usually does. There’s just quiet on the other line, a slight shuddering of sound like wavering breath. His brow furrows, sitting up and opening his mouth to voice his concern when it comes: 

“Hyung.” 

A single, spoken syllable enough to freeze his blood. His veins turn to ice; Jaebum’s stomach becomes a stone plummeting to the bottom of a freezing lake as his suspicions confirm that, yes, in spite of the broken way he says it, he would know Jinyoung’s voice even in death.

He’s too shocked to say anything. The calming sound of traffic from outside his window has faded, and the quiet of his apartment has narrowed down into the buzzing, manic noise of stunned silence. The call doesn’t disconnect. It stays open in his lap when the phone slips from his fingers, the numbers ticking upward like a stopwatch of reticence as his breathing rises and his heart rate slows.  _ Now? Why now?  _ Heart in his throat he struggles to understand  _ why now, _ after seven months of radio silence, of deliberate ignorance and distance, he would choose to call. In the middle of the night, no less, as if he’s some booty call of his own, some backwards fucking agenda––

Anger spreads in his chest like blood from a gunshot wound as he grips the phone and tries not to throw it. He raises it back to his ear, ready to scream or cry or just hang up, but the anger fades quickly into a subdued panic at the noise on the other end. Jinyoung is crying. Hard, by the sound of it; heart wrenching sobs that pull his breath back in sharp and broken. Gulping inhalations fill his ears and for a moment panic slices down his back: what if something is really wrong? What if he’s really hurt? He sounds so much like a dying animal––the way his voice cracks and breaks on sounds like splintered words surrounded by the silence of his own apartment has Jaebum’s own eyes welling with unwanted tears. He presses his forearm against them, trying to hold them in; the last time he heard Jinyoung cry like this was when his mother died. Even with all the things they’ve done to each other it is so hard to listen to him break down like this and do nothing to comfort him.

Through the tears he manages to speak:

“Hyung,” the syllable a shattered staccato. “Hyung, say something.  _ Please.”  _

_ Please.  _ After everything and he still feels like he has to beg. Jaebum’s stomach hurts; it cramps with agony as he bends at the waist to rest his head between his knees while Jinyoung continues to break down into the phone. The rest of him feels numb at the jagged sound of Jinyoung’s voice, but each moment that passes with Jinyoung’s sobs in his ear and the desperate plea for him to say something, anything, has anguish burning in his bones.

“They told me you were sleeping around––” Jinyoung’s voice breaks, a piece of glass over someone’s knee–– “How could you do that? How could you do that to yourself? You don’t deserve that, they don’t love you––”

But he doesn’t finish. The words snap off at the end into more tears, Jaebum’s eyes open and stare blankly at the floor as Jinyoung’s words seep in like a bleed in his brain. He just stares and stares and stares, listening to the most important person in his life come undone in his ear and knowing, so guiltily, that he had in some way had a hand in making it so. Neither of them hang up, so desperate to cling to the moment though Jaebum has said nothing; he listens to Jinyoung cry into the phone and feels himself being crushed underneath the weight of their separation. 

The second time he asks is worse; a drowning man with his lungs full of water and mouth full of salt: 

“Hyung. Say something. Anything.  _ Please.” _

Jinyoung sounds so small. So frantic and afraid. Jaebum feels his heart being ground to powder as he takes a deep breath, audible in the silence, and Jinyoung’s cries grow muffled as though he might miss whatever is coming next. His heart is sluggish, the beats are countable as he tries to find something to say, anything. 

_ One. Two. Three. Four. Five.  _

His own breath stutters in his chest, cheeks wet and vision blurred with tears he’d stopped feeling.

_ Eleven. Twelve. Thirteen. Fourteen. Fifteen.  _

Finally, the only word he seems to know; the one word he’s been dying to say but couldn’t for fear of choking on it: 

“Jinyoungie.” 

The silence that follows is deafening. He could hear a pin drop in that silence; had Jinyoung moved even a centimeter from his bed Jaebum would have heard it like an atom bomb. His voice surprises them both; the three breathed out syllables like relief have stunned them both into nothingness. Their first point of contact in over seven months of utter tenebrosity and it’s barely tear stained begging and whispered names. But what more could there be? It would be selfish to ask for more. He counts his heartbeats as twenty more pass in the silence that follows his muttered plea of Jinyoung’s name. 

Grief swells up in his chest as Jinyoung breaks, choking on a sob as he continues to cry. It barely registers with him that he might be drunk; drunk or not, Jinyoung hasn’t cried like this since the night his mother died and he’d told himself then that he himself would die before he ever heard him fracture apart like this again. Yet he’s doing it now, stone still in his desk chair as they piece together a broken conversation. His heartache fights viciously with his anger and confusion: had Jinyoung not done this very thing? Had Jinyoung not spent his time sleeping around, covering up his supposed feelings with someone else? They had made this mess of themselves, this ragged, mutilated thing, and yet he calls Jaebum up in the middle of the night to cry to tell him that he’s better than this? That he deserves better than this? That these people will never love him like Jinyoung loves him? 

“Hyung––”

“You can’t do this,” he says, and his voice comes out paper thin and begging. It sounds unrecognizable even to his own ears:  _ is that me, sounding like this, like I’m at the end of my rope?  _ But his heart just turns to ashes, dust to dust. His lips are dry and his chest is hollow. “You can’t do this.”

The tears keep coming. Jinyoung cries harder at the ragged plea, his desperation for Jinyoung to understand like holding a gun to his head. Jaebum’s breathing is labored, his face wet from the salt that won’t stop running from his eyes. He counts every heartbeat to keep himself upright as Jinyoung takes a deep shuddering breath: 

“I’m sorry––”

He grips the phone harder in his hand until it hurts, until he’s sure that with just a little more force he could snap the thing in two and cut his own throat with it. It would surely hurt less to do so, wouldn’t it? It would hurt less to die slowly than to be suspended here with Jinyoung, the both of them with knives shoved hilt deep inside each other’s chests, trying to say sorry around the blood pouring from their mouths and still twisting with bloodied fists. Surely it would hurt less to die than to listen to the utter love of his life tell him he deserves better when better did nothing but hide the truth from him with a hand behind his back.

“This is so unfair,” he says, voice breaking as the tears come when the call ends without another sound. 

He doesn’t bother to check to see if the phone screen has shattered when he throws it to the floor. Jaebum buries his face in his hands, crying openly, lost in the sound of separation.  
  
It is so unfair. But loving Park Jinyoung always was.


	15. xv. thousand year dream

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> chil, remember when i said to trust me? 
> 
> just trust me. ♡

 

Sweat drips down his back both from the oppressive heat of the day and the heavy anxiety churning in his stomach. He’s dressed relatively nicely today; a button up shirt underneath a thin sweater with dark pressed slacks that end casually above the bones of his bare ankles. His fingertips tap a nervous, unconscious rhythm against the glass of tea perspiring in the sunshine as the ice melts and drops of water splash with every touch. The area around the coffee shop is alive with activity: the sidewalk just on the other side of the low metal fencing where he’s resting an elbow is bustling with high school kids heading to the mall and mothers with their toddlers going to the park. Couples holding hands and burying smiling faces into each other’s necks and shoulders make his chest feel hollow. Whole families of foreigners walk by pointing and gasping at the beauty of Seoul’s summer; he catches bits and pieces of broken Korean and it makes him smile, just a little. Cars rush past back and forth, carrying people forward and away; he wonders where they’re going while he waits, if they are headed somewhere better, if it would be too much to flag them down and ask if he could come along. If he were allowed to, he would go anywhere, because anywhere else would be better than here: alone.

_ It is possible to be alone but not lonely.  _ Someone’s voice, he isn’t sure whose. Jinyoung is sure they had a point: it’s different being  _ lonely  _ than it is just  _ being alone,  _ blah, blah, blah. Whatever their point had been, Jinyoung realizes that they had inherently misunderstood that it is possible to be both; to be crippled not only by the loneliness of losing but to be alone in the suffering of it. He knows he’s not the first person to lose a best friend, to lose someone close that he loves. He knows that he’s not even the first to find both of those things in the same person too late only to destroy it later with his own two hands. Jinyoung knows he is not the first to drag other people down in his desperation and he won’t be the last. But his selfishness assumes that he is the only one to suffer like this at this exact moment in time and there is no one else who could ever understand it. 

He sighs. Waiting is always the worst part: had he and Hyunwoo come together, they’d be gone already. He wouldn’t still be sitting out here in the heat, dressed nice for the occasion, sweating silently underneath the armor of a nice outfit. Jinyoung had dressed that morning with a rock in his stomach knowing that looking nice wasn’t going to make a difference but doing it anyway.

Jinyoung’s thoughts are slowly starting to meander away, eyes unfocused on the crowds, when he feels a large, familiar hand on his shoulder. “Jinyoungie?” 

Startled, he nearly knocks over his glass when he jerks at the touch and turns around. Hyunwoo is standing next to his chair, dressed casually for the weather in jeans and a sleeveless shirt.  _ What a pair we make,  _ he thinks uselessly, trying to imagine what they’d look like standing next to each other: Hyunwoo, athletic and tanned, looking like a soccer star while Jinyoung looks small and bookish and dressed for the wrong weather. The hand on his shoulder hasn’t left yet, squeezing gently as Jinyoung gathers his wits. 

“Sorry, hyung,” he says, dipping his shoulder from under Hyunwoo’s touch and nodding at the seat across from him at the table. “You scared me.” 

“I’m sorry,” he says, soft and gentle in contrast to the frenetic energy of the air around them. 

He watches as Hyunwoo pulls out the chair, sitting down in it and immediately turning his head to the side as though he’s watching all the people pass by within just a few feet of them. The muscle in his arms is bunched as he puts his hands between his thighs and clenches his fists. 

“Hyung, aren’t you going to get something to drink? It’s really hot out.” 

“No.” 

Jinyoung finally looks up at his face. Gone is the happy go lucky boy he’d always known, someone so confident in the good of the world that it never occurred to him that it could be so cruel. He just looks sad now, handsome face lined and tired in a way that makes Jinyoung’s heart ache. How did it become this way? When did Jinyoung become the type of person who saw so much sadness on the faces of people he cares about and known, so guiltily, he had been the one to put it there? A timeline of his life flashes before his eyes, drawn out and drenched in sunshine for the first three quarters until the last year comes and everything wilts and blackens like dying flowers; the last year of his life had swept in like a natural disaster and destroyed the person he had known himself to be.

Or, quite possibly, he’d never really known himself at all. 

“Hyung––”

The sigh that leaves Hyunwoo’s mouth is unbearably heavy. Jinyoung can almost feel the physical weight of it across his shoulders and can see the way that it lays across Hyunwoo’s, too, slumped a bit in his chair and eyes closed. “Don’t. Whatever you’re about to say or suggest, just don’t. Just get it over with.”

His heart squeezes anxiously. “What?” 

Finally Hyunwoo opens his eyes and looks at him, a fixed stare across the tiny metal table that holds Jinyoung to the spot. They don’t say anything for a moment, and Jinyoung has the fleeting thought:  _ where did our happiness go? Before this distance would have been filled with laughter and sweet smiles and flirting, but now it’s empty and cold like a canyon in winter. Where did it go?  _ It occurs to him, suddenly and so terribly he feels his own body fold slightly in, that Hyunwoo just couldn’t quite give enough happiness for two. 

“You’re breaking up with me, right?” Hyunwoo says, and Jinyoung cringes away from the ice in his voice. “Just say what you need to say so I can go. I have somewhere to be.” 

The dismissal smarts like a slap but he has no right to the anger that washes up red in his cheeks. He swallows it down. “Yes.”

Hyunwoo is silent for a moment, waiting for a follow up, but the words are stuck in Jinyoung’s throat. “Is that all?” 

“No,” he says, voice breaking a little pathetically, and he looks away from Hyunwoo’s empty face to the woven metal of the table. “I want to say I’m sorry, too.”

The noise Hyunwoo makes against his teeth feels like another slap but he takes it, a well deserved punishment. Jinyoung’s eyes barely blink as he stares at the table and attempts to speak around the lump in his throat. 

“I know you don’t want to hear it but I am sorry. I’ve been so messed up for the last year. So much has happened and so little of it made any sense. I never meant to drag you into the middle of it like this. I’d been living this life where I was trying t o figure out if Jaebum really loved me––he’d admitted that he did when we were twenty, but it felt so forced, like he only said yes because I’d pulled it out of him. And I was trying to live this life looking for the signs that it was true, that he’d meant it, because I never had any proof. But the proof had really been there all along, and I just wasn’t looking hard enough.

“And then you came back, and you asked me out. I was really happy. I was. But I also remember thinking about how Jaebum would feel, if he would say anything; he claimed to love me for his whole life but never once ever said anything about the boyfriends I had in high school and the first couple years of college. We were 24, then––it felt like my last chance, to get him to prove it, to find some evidence in the way that he reacted to show me that he’d meant it. And when I told him you had asked me on a date, he’d gotten angry. But not because you’d asked, but because I had taken him out somewhere to tell him, had made a big deal about it, ‘like I cared about how he felt’. I told him that I knew how he felt about me and he’d stood up and said ‘No, you really don’t’. So then I didn’t know what to think.”

Hyunwoo’s voice sounds thin as paper when he asks, “why are you telling me all this?” 

Jinyoung looks up at him and is heartbroken at the mixture of sadness and pity on his face. “I don’t have anyone else to tell.” 

The older boy clenches his jaw and doesn’t say anything, but he also doesn’t leave. Jinyoung continues,

“And all it did was create this...this  _ game,  _ this awful game of chicken between the two of us, like we were constantly testing each other to see who would break first. Sexual tension wasn’t exactly new to us, but it was one of those things growing up that we just never spoke about. Ever. It was always, always brushed under the rug and forgotten about. And it was so, so confusing for me. Even when we made out when we were fifteen, I thought he was nervous because his mom was down the hallway and he was kissing a boy, whereas I was nervous because I was kissing a boy and I loved him, and I didn’t think he loved me back. And after he left that night, we never talked about it again.

“So it was like a test. I pushed him and pushed him until he finally started to push back, touching me in a way that was more than friendly, you know, letting me touch him…” Jinyoung trails off, quietly remembering that night in front of Yugyeom’s house where he’d been caressing Jaebum’s bare back and had felt the way it made him feel against his hip. He swallows. “And I thought that, maybe he didn’t love me, but wanted to sleep with me, but was so reluctant at first because he was scared it would fuck up our friendship. But it could only go on for so long before we both gave in, and that night we hooked up was the first time I could have ever believed he might love me; how happy he looked, finally, for the first time in so long, telling me he loved me––”

“Get to the point, Jinyoung,” Hyunwoo says roughly, close to begging, and Jinyoung feels like a criminal for the way he keeps twisting the knife in Hyunwoo’s heart.  _ “Please.”  _

“And then the next day it said it was a mistake. He was adamant that it was a mistake and it never should have happened and that it was never going to happen again.” His breath hitches painfully, hearing over and over the way Jaebum had told him they’d made a mistake by being together that way. “What else was I supposed to think then? I’d messed up the date with you by thinking of him, messed up my friendship with him by having sex. It was all just falling apart. That night I called you, I was feeling so desperate, hearing your voice was the first thing that made me feel even slightly alright––”

“That’s not fair, don’t say that––”

“It’s true!” He says, teeth clenched to keep from shouting. Hot tears in his eyes now, his whole world tossed upside down and tumbling. “It’s true! You want the truth, right? I reached out to you because I couldn’t ever figure out what was going on with Jaebum, not in the 24 years we’d been friends! After everything that happened between him and I, I reached out to you, and you were the first thing that made me feel like it wouldn’t be so bad.” 

“Jinyoung––” Hyunwoo’s voice is full of pain.

“And it wasn’t. It wasn’t so bad with you. I may have lied about a lot of things, Hyunwoo, but I never lied about liking you. I liked being with you.” 

“But it wasn’t enough, right?” 

Jinyoung rubs a sleeved arm across his eyes, distressed at the way it comes away wet. “It’s not that it wasn’t enough, hyung. It just wasn’t  _ right.”  _

The silence that follows is heavy, despite the activity still hurrying around them. People carrying on with their lives, oblivious to the drama unfolding as they pass by, oblivious to the way Jinyoung breaks another heart with just words. 

“Hyunwoo, I’m sorry. It’s not fair. It was never fair. I shouldn’t have done it.”

He looks up into Hyunwoo’s face, who is already staring back at him. Contempt makes his features more striking, the red flush of anger across the handsome apples of his cheeks like a sunburn. His eyes are wet and his jaw is tight as he half stands from his chair. “God, I hate you.” 

Jinyoung wishes he could have believed anything else as easily as he believes this. An arrow aimed straight at his heart and sent through, a clean wound, bleeding freely. He swallows hard and lets the water run from his eyes. “I’m sorry that I couldn’t love you.” 

His eyes stay at the level of Hyunwoo’s chest when he stands, the chair scraping back angrily, the phantom sound from long ago when Jaebum had done the same thing. A parallel universe of disasters, both the same and yet so different, a nearly identical timeline ending in another broken heart. Hyunwoo stands at the table like he’s waiting for one last thing, but Jinyoung had said everything that he’d came to say.  _ It wasn’t fair. I’m sorry I couldn’t love you.  _ The thing he had left unsaid,  _ the way I love him.  _ But it ceased to matter.

Hyunwoo says, “lose my number. I don’t ever want to talk to you again,” before he turns and disappears. 

_ It is possible to be alone but not lonely _ , he thinks, eyes wet and heart hollow.  _ But what are you supposed to do when you are both? _

 

 

******

 

Time crawls. 

When Hyunwoo had walked away that day, he'd sat alone at the coffee shop and stared out into the crowds until they thinned and the skyline burned orange. He had sat and thought and continued to think until his eyes had dried and the waitress had to tell him they were closing up shop; you don't have to go home but you can't stay here. 

He had done something that Jaebum had always done, and he had walked. His thoughts had been a mess, loose marbles that rolled and clicked and spun away from slippery fingers when he'd tried to latch onto any one of them. Sounds of the city slowing down into the supine stillness of a weeknight were lost on him; bustling business people on their way home from long days passed by him like ghosts in a slipstream. The night washed up like the tide on the shoreline: the black blanket of sky pulled down the light of the sun and snuffed it out underneath the street lamps and neons. Colors oscillated over his face as he walked but he barely saw them; as far as he was concerned the color had been bleached from everything and with two hearts broken from his vicious hand the world was but a spectrum of black and white.

Eventually the streets had cleared of people and the only people that he passed were the ones who lurked at night, the criminals or the homeless who were too afraid to show themselves in the sun. A man who who was not interested in watching where he was going knocked into his shoulder as he passed by; the motorbike growl of  _ watch out, motherfucker  _ and the startled jostle of his shoulder had snapped Jinyoung from the hours long daze he'd been in. Panic set in fast when he'd looked around and been unfamiliar with the area he was in, and when he'd tilted his head further to see the position of the moon burning like a bulb in the darkness of the sky he realized just how long he'd been walking. The exhaustion rushed in quickly; his bones turned to water and he nearly collapsed against the brick wall lining the street. But he found the last remaining strength inside himself despite, and he began the long trek home. 

Another two hours passed before he'd arrived, and something about the stillness outside his apartment building made him feel more weary than the journey itself. Delirious from the effort of walking, he imagined a different life as he'd weakly climbed the stairs to his door: a life where the light was on in the window, a life where there was soft music playing behind the door, a life where a man would be sitting in a chair underneath the lamp with his chin to his chest, asleep after waiting up for him. He imagined as he unlocked the cold door of his apartment that Jaebum would melt into his touch when awoken from his chair, and that they would go to bed together like it had been written out for them in the stars. 

But the reality was cold and harsh: their phone call weeks ago had ended with Jaebum’s broken voice telling him  _ it's not fair _ before the line had died and the rhythm of his heart had stopped to match. The reality was he opened the door of his apartment to pitch darkness and a silence that echoed the emptiness in his heart and he fell into bed, alone.

It was the beginning of October tomorrow. A new day, a new month, a new season just on the cusp of becoming: leaves had already begun to lose their lush greens and fade to yellows and oranges. Days grew less hot but not cold. He had broken up with Hyunwoo and not spoken to any of their friends in over two weeks. The next day had marked something like a new beginning.

But nothing had changed. 

 

******

 

“Come back to us, Jinyoungie,” Jackson pleads, his voice strained with worry and the exasperation of waiting, “we miss you so much.” 

The phone in his hand seems to groan with the pressure of his vice grip on it. Tears rain down his face, soaking the collar of his shirt, rubbing the skin of his neck raw with salt. Heavy, broken sobs rip themselves from his chest as he holds the phone to his ear with one hand and his forehead with the other. “I'm trying.” 

Jackson’s voice is a sigh, a silent comfort, the phantom pat on the back he's craving but isn't sure how to ask for when the heartache he's feeling is all his fault.

“I know, Jinyoungie. We’ll be waiting.” 

 

******

 

They do wait for him. The first day Jinyoung leaves the house nearly three weeks after breaking up with Hyunwoo, the five of them are waiting for him at the bottom of his stairs. Smiles are splitting their faces in half, cheers and raucous applause exploding in the crisp fall air that, despite seeming facetious, is entirely genuine. His five friends are waiting for him, and though Jaebum’s absence is still obvious like a missing limb, it does not take away his ability to find a smile. 

“There it is!” Jackson crows, sending an elbow into Yugyeom’s ribs. Jinyoung laughs quietly as he comes down the stairs, the familiar burn of tears in his eyes but from happiness this time and not the crushing heartache still lingering like cobwebs. “Look at that smile, Park Jinyoung!” 

Even Mark seems more rowdy than usual, an arm slung around Jackson’s neck and whooping at the top of his lungs. Their three youngest dongsaengs are jumping all over each other like puppies; calls of  _ Jinyoung hyung Jinyoung hyung Jinyoung hyung!  _ bursting in the quiet of the neighborhood like firecrackers. 

He stops at the bottom of the stairs and watches as his five best friends all shout and holler and celebrate him though he's done nothing more spectacular than step outside.  _ You had been withdrawn for so long that it was definitely something to be celebrated,  _ Mark would tell him later, and he would again feel the tears well up in his eyes caused by something other than the bruises on his heart and soul. He gets just a few moments to admire them all and their unconditional love for him despite the battle lines he'd drawn in the sand with Jaebum before all five of them are coming at him; ten hands yanking at his shirt and pants until he's surrounded and caged in a group hug unlike any other.

He laughs. The sound is nearly unfamiliar. Youngjae puts a grinning face in his neck while Bambam screams his name and though he doesn't know it yet, happiness has gotten one foot in the door. 

 

******

 

He yawns, trying not to make it obvious but accidentally drawing more attention to himself. Jinyoung blinks sleepily and tries to refocus on the paper he's supposed to be grading: he doesn't want to admit that he's tired, but he is, and the weariness can be felt down to his bones. Jinyoung has read the same question six times already and still hasn't marked whether or not it's correct. 

The sigh he emits is quiet but loud enough that the professor he's assisting looks up from his own desk across the room. Jinyoung avoids looking over, attempting to look focused and busy so that he won't do that thing where he softens and sends Jinyoung home with oddly specific words of comfort. 

It hadn't been easy developing a new routine, but one had found him and he'd been glad for it. Though he had dropped out entirely last year after the last time he'd seen Jaebum in person, his poetry professor hadn't forgotten him and reached out when he needed someone to grade his papers. Surprised and oddly touched Jinyoung had accepted immediately and had found something to help keep him afloat.

No longer occupied by Hyunwoo or desperate phone calls to Jaebum, Jinyoung had found he had plenty of time to think. Whereas he had wanted to do anything but in the first couple of months after seeing Jaebum for the last time, he had found that now he didn't mind it so much. Jaebum still engrossed every one of his thoughts and feelings; there wasn't a day that had passed since their last meeting where this wasn't true. But the spots where it hurt the most, razor blades to the skin, those places had not necessarily healed but faded into bruises. And so, now that it no longer felt like dying, thinking of Jaebum was something he did willingly. 

In the weeks following his break up with Hyunwoo and getting the side job with his professor and trying to step back in to some form of a normal life, the time he spent between all of these things had given him plenty of opportunity for reflection. Mornings on the bus were spent with his eyes closed, thinking of memories and digging through the mental boxes he'd stashed some of the more painful things inside of. He mostly took the bus and walked; taking the bus gave him a sense of comfortable aloneness and walking offered him what he had assumed that Jaebum also sought from the activity: mind numbing repetition of  _ left foot right foot left foot right foot  _ while his thoughts wandered. Between all of these things he had learned quite a bit about himself. 

The first and most important thing he learned is that he's tired of fighting. He's tired of putting up a front, of trying to come across as and be something he isn't. He had spent so much of his life putting up this facade that Jaebum’s apparent lack of feelings never bothered him because he could get anything he wanted when it was really the opposite. He had spent so much time focused on all the ways that Jaebum couldn't possibly love him that he missed all the signs that he had until it was too late and the moment had passed. His life had been spent waiting on the grand proclamation that was never going to come; he had become too much like the bleeding hearts of his literary idols and could not believe that love existed outside of a grand gesture. 

He has come to realize that Jaebum never lied about loving him. The confession was forced, yes, an unwanted conflict in his life he had said he didn't want, and Jinyoung selfishly pulled it from him anyway. But while he had spent so much time searching for “signs” that Jaebum loved him, testing his boundaries with the lingering touches and the allure of sex he thought Jaebum wanted, Jinyoung had missed entirely the ways that Jaebum had told the truth. It was in everything he did that Jinyoung overlooked: it was the forgiveness after the fight, it was the staunch and honest  _ I love you  _ at the bus stop, it was the way he had tried to keep himself from sex at arms length because he wanted to hold on to the purity of their friendship, it was the way he had stayed on the line to listen to his tears instead of hanging up right away. Jinyoung had offered his confession tucked away in the dust jacket of a poetry book because the meaning was huge but the gesture itself was small. Jaebum had offered in confession inside the tiny spaces of everything else: phonecalls, contact, laughter, tears.

Jaebum hadn't believed him when he said he loved him and though at first he had burned with the deepest offense, he is no longer hindered by the selfish film over his eyes and he can see that he had never given Jaebum a reason to. The way he dangled sex in front of him, the way he way he kept pushing for some realization instead of talking it out, the demanded apologies and the. name calling and the shouting matches. He had never tried to accept or understand Jaebum’s love for him so thus it didn't exist. All he had done then was find ways to make Jaebum bury it deeper while Jinyoung’s feelings rose up to the surface and bubbled over too late. He had come to realize that at the end of all things, their entire lives were made up of missed marks and miscommunication. Being best friends for so long made them arrogant in their assumptions and thus they had pretended to know each other better when neither of them know themselves at all. 

And it's now with a heavy, resigned heart that he misses Jaebum freely. He thinks of him always, and thoughts of Jaebum occupy his mind even as his professor looks up as he yawns again.

“Yah,” he says, glasses slid down the bridge of his nose. “It's late. Go home, won't you?” 

Jinyoung puts his pen down and rubs his eyes. “What time is it?” 

“Nearly 11pm. How many papers did you get through, anyway?”

Sheepishly Jinyoung looks up from under his eyelashes. The guiltiness on his face makes his professor laugh. “Not many. I'm sorry.” 

The older man waves him off with a grunt of dismissal. “Don't worry about it. The buses aren't running now though, so take the subway. Don't walk. There's a subway station right around the corner.”

Jinyoung wants to protest—he hasn't taken the subway unless absolutely necessary since that night he'd seen Jaebum or the ghost of him on it. But his professor is looking at him sternly and Jinyoung flushes with warm-hearted embarrassment.

“Yes, sir. I'll take the subway.” 

Looking away, the older man flaps a hand at the door. “Good. Get out of my hair now, Jinyoung-ah, and stop thinking so much. Everything will right itself in the end.”

Jinyoung laughs in the doorway, adjusting the strap of his messenger bag over his chest. “You're a writing teacher. You have to say that.”

Two dark eyes find his over the half moon rims of worn glasses. “I'm a writing teacher. I pick my words carefully and say only what I mean.”

It is impossible to argue with that, and coupled with the look of utter seriousness on his face, Jinyoung is helpless to believe him. There is a moment where he wonders if the professor knows more about the state of his emotions than he’s letting on, but he is flashed a smile and the thought fades. He bows politely, holding the strap of his bag over his chest. “Yes, sir.” 

“Good. Goodbye, now,” he says, not looking up as Jinyoung slips from the room and heads toward the subway. 

  
  
  


November is just around the corner. The wind that whips at his face as he steps from the school building and down to the pavement of the sidewalk makes his eyes water. Jinyoung pulls the scarf he had abandoned earlier from his bag and wraps it around his neck again, drawing it up over his nose and mouth to shield them from the icy air that slices him head on. The short heels of his shoes click with an echo in the quiet of the street; the weeknight has turned this side of campus into a ghost town. He sees only two other people on his quiet walk to the subway station, and they too are hurrying along with scarves pulled up over their mouths and with eyes squinted against the wind. 

Had it been less cold, he would have stopped to admire the way the fountain in the middle of the square was backlit by the dull orange glow of the streetlamps. Frost had gathered in the wetness of the grass already, and it crunches delicately underneath his shoes as he takes a shortcut to the entrance of the subway station. The light radiating from the depths of the blocky concrete entrance promises him shelter from the freezing wind and he quickly makes his way down the stairs. 

For once the subway platform is empty and silent. Normally both sides of the station would be bustling with people, elbow to elbow and permeated with the low roar of chatter that, when he tunes out just enough, sounds more like water rushing up the shoreline than it does the overlapping of voices. Now in the late hour it is empty, the soft incandescence of the station lights throwing shadows across the pillars and benches. As he waits on a lone bench for the subway to come rumbling up the tunnel, he closes his eyes and berates himself gently for depriving himself of this: he had always loved the underground at night, riding it alone for the atmosphere and ambiance that often made an overwhelming sense of loneliness swell up in his chest that dissipated quickly as soon as another body stepped on. But it was never a terrible kind of loneliness; it was the kind that made him feel smaller and that the world around him was so much bigger than the tiny solar system he’d always been holding in his hands. 

And he had missed it. He had denied himself this small comfort because he was afraid of running into Jaebum, knowing that he often took the subway because it was fast and convenient, because he didn’t want the other boy to feel like Jinyoung was trying to intrude on his space. After the phone call and the break up he had always been selfish when it came to Jaebum and it was time to let go of it. Jaebum never did and never would deserve the kind of treatment he received from Jinyoung and for that he would be eternally sorry, whether Jaebum ever got to know that or not. 

The bench he’s sitting on starts to vibrate slightly with the pullulating rumble of the subway car as it rounds the bend of the tunnel at his right and enters the station. Wind whips by him as the front car goes past, the squeal of the brakes echoing ominously up and down the deserted corridors while Jinyoung stands and brushes off his pants. He waits patiently behind the yellow line for the car to roll to a stop before the doors open with a whisper and he steps inside.

It’s graciously warm, and he feels a shudder run down his back as he quickly sits down in the empty seat right by the door. They only stay open for a moment longer before they close with a sigh, the overhead pinging and the mechanical voice announcing for people to sit down or hold on as the subway is about to leave the station. Jinyoung leans forward, looking to the up and down the other cars to see that there are still a few people out and about at this hour, but he is blissfully alone in his. He watches, as he had always done, as the small lights fixed to the concrete of the tunnels rush by out of the window, settled on top of his washed out reflection. The fluorescents buzz quietly overhead, dimmed only by the sound of the subway on the tracks. As it carries him forward, he stares into the eyes of his reflection across from him for a while before he closes them, disappearing into the memory of a time long ago when he’d seen Jaebum like an apparition that faded as soon as it arrived.

While he’s thinking of the dark pools of Jaebum’s eyes, he hears the subway shift and then feels it as it starts to slow down for its arrival at the next station. Jinyoung remains in his position, hands folded in his lap and his eyes closed, basking in the warmth of the car and the memory currently enveloping his thoughts. The car comes to a stop and the doors open with a  _ swish,  _ silent for a moment before he hears the telltale click of footsteps on the metal floor. Jinyoung pays them little mind beyond listening to the swish of their clothes as they sit down across from him; he keeps his eyes closed and sighs with a distant sort of contentedness. Not quite, but almost. 

The subway is still for just a moment longer before it pulls from the station and begins rushing through the dark tunnels underneath the city. Jinyoung finds that he his calmed by the sound of it, mixed with the humming of the lights above and the soft, even breathing of the stranger across from him. It had not been so hard to smile recently, but rarely were they as honest as the small one that curls the corners of his lips. He wishes within himself that his friends were around to see it.

The stranger across from him remains quiet, and Jinyoung finds that he grows a little curious to see what they look like but is far too adrift in his quiet thoughts to pursue it. It is only when the stranger sighs in a familiar tone that he opens his eyes.

He blinks a few times, slow and deliberate as though he’d just been woken up. The length of the body stretched out in the seat directly across from him is as a familiar to him as the mapping of veins in the back of his own hand. A roar washes up in his ears, the blood rushing up as his heart beats faster, every inch of the person in front of him swallowed up by his eyes starting from the visible skin of his ankles. Jinyoung feels perplexed by the vision that had materialized before his very eyes: Jaebum sitting across from him, lit from above with some heavenly glow, the manifestation of a recurring dream from some thousand year sleep.

When he reaches Jaebum’s eyes he finds that the older boy is already looking at him. His face, so familiar and yet so alien to him, looks tired. There are shadows pressed underneath his eyes like twin bruises that Jinyoung doesn’t think had been there before. Jaebum breathes quietly, evenly, seemingly unaffected by sitting directly across from the person who had single handedly held his heart in his hand and crushed it cruelly beneath his fingers. His body language is, for the first time, unreadable; his legs crossed in pressed slacks and his arms folded over a simple button down shirt. The fluorescents above them suddenly seem harsh as they reflect off the near-wet shine of Jaebum’s leather shoes. 

In a repeat of their first subway encounter, all the do is stare at each other. Jinyoung’s breath catches in his throat and lodges there like a pill swallowed the wrong way. The lights reproduce in the obsidian depths of his eyes like tiny galaxies and Jinyoung finds that, despite the metaphorical distance between them, he is once again desperate to count the stars. A burning begins in his chest, that familiar sting of tears at the back of his eyes––

“Breathe,” he says, and his voice is like a lighthouse guiding him back to shore. It comes to him across the short distance of their bodies and he latches onto it like a drowning man; it has been so long since he’s heard Jaebum’s voice like this. Normal. Not weighed down by grief or rough with razor edged anger. Just normal. 

Jinyoung feels infinitely more incredulous when the corners of Jaebum’s mouth curl upward in the barest hint of a smile. It doesn’t feel real; there’s no way that Jaebum could be about to smile at him, is there? After all this time, the thing he wants the most but deserves the very least, offered to him easily with no effort at all? It can’t be real. The lack of air catches to a blaze in his chest as the tiny upward curve of Jaebum’s mouth stays in place.

“Breathe, Jinyoung-ah,” he says again, and Jinyoung does. 

He gasps, quietly, feeling the ache in his chest lessen as his lungs flood with the oxygen he’d been depriving them of. His eyes gloss over with the blur of fresh tears but he blinks them back quickly; his hands turn to fists in his lap as he tries to return his breathing to a normal pace.

The whole time Jaebum just watches him, the hint of a smile fading back behind the curtain of an emotionless expression. How strange it had been to hear his name come from Jaebum’s mouth so freely, without the chains of heartache, reminding him to breath as though they were kids again, transported back to the summers where Jaebum would hold his head underwater for just a  _ bit  _ too long; pulling him up sputtering and gasping pounding a hand on his back with a laugh as he crowed,  _ Breathe, Jinyoung-ah! Breathe! I’d never let you drown.  _

But that was a long time ago. An entire lifetime, it seems. They continue to watch each other as the subway carries on, oblivious to the monumental occasion happening within its curved steel walls. Jinyoung is struggling for something to say, anything––he knows the moment will end soon and it terrifies him to think that it will pass without one last ditch effort to say something meaningful. But nothing comes. The words are stuck in his heart like knives and he isn’t sure what to say.

The only indication that Jaebum feels something other than detachment is the way his throat works in a nervous swallow that Jinyoung has seen a million times. His voice, when he speaks, does not shake. “Are you alright?”

Jinyoung’s does, though. “No.”

Whoops. He hadn’t meant to say it so earnestly, and Jaebum looks a little surprised. Before Jaebum has time to say something else, Jinyoung asks,

“Are you?” 

The skyward curves of Jaebum’s lips returns. “No.” 

Such a simple conversation, so different than the ones they’ve had over the course of the last year apart. For the first time in what feels like an entire agonizing lifetime, it doesn’t seem hard to speak. As though Jaebum recognizes this too, the smile grows slightly, and the space between them is filled with both of their tired laughter.

“I broke up with Hyunwoo,” he says, and he hadn’t really intended on it, but it feels better once it’s out. Jaebum’s face doesn’t change; their eyes have held with barely a blink since Jinyoung had opened his eyes. 

He nods. “I heard.” 

“You did?” 

“Yes,” he says, and from the corner of his eye Jinyoung sees the anxious movement of his throat when he swallows. “Mark told me. No one else wanted to, because they didn’t think I cared, or wanted to hear about it. But he told me.” 

The steady drumbeat of his heart sounds in his ears at so much of Jaebum’s uninterrupted voice, all his, no one else in the subway car to hear it. The safety net he had created over the last couple of weeks vanishes and he feels himself dangling by his fingertips off a single thread. “Do you care?” 

Jaebum softens, unfairly, as though he hadn’t already seemed soft enough. “Of course I do.”

Jinyoung feels like crying. He does cry; the tears well up unbidden and spill down his face, a noise in the back of his throat that he swallows to spare himself the embarrassment. He has already been given something that he doesn’t deserve: not forgiveness, he’s not sure that Jaebum would ever forgive him for anything that he’d done, but the admission of caring that he had wanted so much. Never once had he faltered in how much he cared about Jaebum despite the way it might have looked but Jinyoung would never have faulted him for ceasing to care about him. But as Jaebum watches him from across the gently lit car of the subway, he has been given a reason to keep trying.

“I care, too.”

It’s not exactly the  _ I’m sorry  _ he’d been going for, but he’s not exactly sure that the moment calls for apologies. Jaebum’s eyes shine with a wetness that Jinyoung knows he won’t shed here in front of him, but the meaning comes across the same: he’s tired, too. Though their whole lives had been a series of miscommunications and assumptions, there were some things that were so inherent about them that they could never go away, not even in death, and one of those things is that there will always be a deeper understanding of the words that are not said underneath the ones that are. Jaebum’s acknowledgement of his reciprocated care means that he’s tired of the fighting. The line of his shoulders is no longer rigid with the distress of putting up a fight but are relaxed and slumped with the resignation that time takes a toll on all things. That doesn’t mean it’s better, or that they’ll ever be friends again, but it at least means that there is no longer a knife in either of their hands. 

Something passes between them in the silence that follows. A subtle change, an undefined lack of space that hadn’t existed in the months before. He can’t quite put his finger on it: it’s not exactly  _ making up  _ but it feels, in all ways, like a cease fire. 

Jinyoung wants to say something else, but the overhead announcement interrupts him and Jaebum stands at the name of the next station. His hand grips the pole next to his seat and he never takes his eyes from Jinyoung’s face. “This is my stop.”

“You’re getting off?” Jinyoung closes his eyes and flushes red at the obvious petulance in his voice. It is unfair of him to want to drag out a moment he had not deserved but the feeling doesn’t change.

Jaebum laughs quietly at him and god, his heart aches, how much he’d missed the sound of it. “Yes. I was just on campus finishing up my assignment for finals.”

He doesn’t say anything else, and they just continue to soak each other up with their eyes like it’s a dream they’re going to forget once they wake. The subway shifts again, slowing once more, and he watches as Jaebum’s hand lets go of the pole to step forward. The distance between them lessens with the long step until he’s tilting his head back, staring up into Jaebum’s face, distantly amazed by the length of his hair where it hangs to his eyebrows as he looks down at him. Jinyoung’s heartbeat falters and continues unsteadily, a palpitation in the hollow of his throat that he’s sure is visible. The car around them hisses as it comes to a stop, the windows lighting up from the station lights, and Jaebum’s face is no longer shadowed by the curtain of his ochre hair: the look of exhausted longing etched into his features is as clear as day. Jinyoung’s fingers find the skin of Jaebum’s wrist just as the older boy’s fingertips ghost across his cheekbone; the barely there touch enough to send fire blistering across his skin.

“Am I going to see you again?” he whispers, afraid that if he speaks too loudly than the vision will break; he’ll open his eyes again and be alone once more as he’d been when he’d first arrived. 

But Jaebum is real. Painfully real. His fingertips stroke his cheek as the doors slide open to the side of them; he can feel too the way Jaebum’s heart is pounding against the thin skin of his wrist. “Do you want to?”

“Of course I do,” he murmurs, wanting to stand, but terrified to break the spell. 

The small smile returns, Jaebum’s familiar lips curved up in the corners even as his fingertips send one last line of heat across his face before they slip away. Even as Jinyoung lets his fingers slip from Jaebum’s wrist he can feel the beat of his heart tattooed in the lines and swirls. 

“Then you will.”

One last smile before he goes, and Jinyoung turns all the way around in his seat to watch Jaebum step from the subway car with one last glance over his shoulder. Jinyoung can barely describe the feeling inside of him––hope battling despair as the subway pulls out too quickly for him to watch Jaebum disappear up the stairs and vanish onto the street. But even if it had been slow enough, he wouldn’t have seen him leave: he would have watched Jaebum stand on the platform and follow the place Jinyoung’s body was in the window until the tail lights faded into black. 

 

******

 

When the two burning red lights evaporate into the blackness of the tunnels carrying his love away from him again, he smiles for the first time in a long time. He had waited for months, buried himself under other people, watched as the seasons faded and rose like the tide for something that he could not name. What he’d been waiting for was hope; but the days that had come and gone were the same as those that had come before it and would come after it and hope was lost; it was all the same. Soon after so too had his will to fight gone, drowned and forgotten but Jinyoung’s absence remaining. 

But as he watched Jinyoung watch him until he no longer could, the hope came back. 

Everything had changed.

 


	16. xvi. this is the new year

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> here it is! the end! i hope it was worth it! <3 
> 
> i won't take up too much time, but the title of the chapter comes from this song 
> 
> ♡

_ “Am I going to see you again?” he whispers, afraid that if he speaks too loudly then the vision will break; he’ll open his eyes again and be alone once more as he’d been when he’d first arrived.  _

_ But Jaebum is real. Painfully real. His fingertips stroke his cheek as the doors slide open to the side of them; he can feel too the way Jaebum’s heart is pounding against the thin skin of his wrist. “Do you want to?”  _

_ “Of course I do,” he murmurs, wanting to stand, but terrified to break the spell.  _

_ The small smile returns, Jaebum’s familiar lips curved up in the corners even as his fingertips send one last line of heat across his face before they fall away. Even as Jinyoung lets his fingers slip from Jaebum’s wrist he can feel the beat of his heart tattooed in the lines and swirls.  _

_ “Then you will.” _

But he doesn’t. 

 

******

 

The winter snatches November up in cold front after cold front. A week had passed in silence since their accidental meeting on the subway (or had it been an accident? Oftentimes when he wakes up from dreams of being enveloped in Jaebum’s arms again he isn’t quite sure), and it had been slow and tedious. He had held out hope––some sort of communication, when it was obvious that Jaebum wanted it, too. Jinyoung would be ashamed to admit that he spent so much time lingering by his phone, silently praying for it to ring, jumping when it did only to fall fast when the name that flashed across the screen wasn’t the one he wanted. The air around them got more and more bitter as the days passed and the memory of Jaebum’s fingertips on his skin faded with each minute of frost that assaulted his face when he stepped outside. 

The dreams had been welcome at first: dizzying, swirling parallel universes that always seemed to start that moment on the subway when Jinyoung had opened his eyes and seen Jaebum sitting there across from him, dark eyes two planets fixed in his orbit. They rarely strayed from the same formula: they would meet on the subway, Jaebum standing at his exit to gingerly touch Jinyoung’s face, a sign of submission––he, too, had seemed to fold under the weight of their individual absences from each other’s lives. The touch had communicated so much more than just an  _ I’m sorry  _ or  _ let’s end this;  _ the feeling of Jaebum’s quickened, nervous heartbeat had been tattooed into his fingerprints as he’d gripped his wrist and begged with his eyes to not leave him again. In the dreams that came he didn’t: Jaebum would sit down and they’d go together, or Jinyoung would stand up and leave with him. Every ending saw their fingers intertwined and resting in someone’s lap or swinging in the tiny space between them. But as the days went on and left him wanting, the happy ending he wanted seemed further and further out of reach. 

It had been, he feels, so, so close.

The second week passed more quickly but still without any sign from Jaebum that he’d really meant what he said on the subway. Jinyoung could have reached out to him but again he was feeling afraid; it was Jaebum that approached him that night, not the other way around. Jinyoung’s worst fear is trying to talk to Jaebum before he’s ready and being pushed away. Maybe permanently. He had seemed so sincere, then, with the gentle touch of someone in love and the longing in his eyes that Jinyoung had felt mirrored in his soul. But now a year had passed between them with galaxies of distance and there is so much that Jinyoung feels like he doesn’t know about the man he’d grown up beside and left his heart with before he even knew what it meant. It is possible, then, that Jaebum had become a better actor than he’d been before.

Part of him doesn’t buy it, though. Though most things about Jaebum may have changed, and their relationship laid out on the rack and stretched to the point of severance, there is a minuscule part of himself convinced of the fact that, no matter how hard he tries, Jaebum would never be good at acting. It is this thought and this thought alone that carries him through the last two weeks of November drenched in radio silence and into the first two weeks of a freezing December. 

Once a full month had passed and then another two weeks on top of it, he gave up the hope that he was going to hear from Jaebum. And maybe he didn’t deserve it––when he thought about it at night, lying alone in his tiny studio apartment and watching the headlights pass across his ceiling like perpetual ghosts, he convinced himself that he didn’t. Their history was too expansive, too long and complicated; they had kept so many parts of their inner selves secret for so long only to have them cut out and presented garishly within the space of a few weeks. What had followed could be described in poet’s terms as a bloodbath: it was hit after hit, no longer Jinyoung’s imagined game of cloak and dagger but of dagger and dagger. The time to keep their hands hidden behind their backs was over and by the end of it it had seemed as though neither of them had any blood left to shed. Despite Jaebum’s own fault in what happened Jinyoung couldn’t help but shoulder all the blame: maybe if he had just been honest when they were kids, the fantasy of coming home to spinning records and Jaebum lounging across their shared bed with warmth in his arms and eyes would have been tangible. 

He had done enough of his own lying for the first twenty of their years together, and added more to the pile of them in the last five. It is not such a silly thought, then, that he might deserve the most terrible of Jaebum’s lies.

_ Will I see you again?  _

_ I want to. _ _  
_

_ Then you will.  _

 

******

 

Christmas goes by without even the whisper of the text he’d received last year, and despite telling himself that he wasn’t waiting for it, he definitely was. It doesn’t make it any easier when he sees his friends and it’s still just the six of them; he’s met with uneasy stares and awkward shuffling when he broaches the subject of Jaebum at the table in Mark and Jackson’s new apartment on the 26th.

“Is Jaebum going to be here?” Jinyoung asks, unconcerned, yet hoping for a yes. He isn’t quite sure what he would do if Jaebum  _ did  _ show up, since it’s not like their conversation on the subway was exactly crystal clear. In fact, when he’d told his older sister about it while they laid on her bed and talked in the dark like they were kids again, she’d laughed at how cryptic it had been.  _ You’ve always picked the difficult ones, Jinyoungah,  _ she’d said, and ruffled his hair,  _ who knew that the most difficult one was the one you thought you knew the best? _

It annoyed him that she’d been right. 

When he’s met with sideways glances and cleared throats, his stomach bottoms out and he drops his chopsticks with a  _ clink  _ against the plate. “Oh, no. What?”

“It’s nothing, hyung,” Yugyeom says, his big eyes desperately looking at his other hyungs gathered at the table and seeming dismayed when none of them will meet his eyes. “It’s just…”

Even Mark looks slightly uncomfortable. He sighs heavily, though, setting his chopsticks down and fixing Jinyoung with a  _ look.  _ A Mark look. The kind that Jinyoung absolutely despises because he knows that it is preceding something that he’s going to hate. 

“Did you really think he was going to be here?” 

Always the unflinching bearer of bad news. Jinyoung deflates a little bit under the weight of what Mark hadn’t said, but meant in the empty spaces of the words he’s left unspoken.  _ Did you really think that Jaebum was going to show up knowing that you’d be here, too?  _

He doesn’t really know what to say. He hadn’t expected Jaebum to show up, no, but he had hoped for it. Despite giving up the hope that Jaebum would contact him with something to say, he had at least thought that the first holiday they weren’t going for each other’s throats could be spent in some sort of doctored harmony. But as they continue to avoid his eyes and not say anything else, it is clear to him that this was one desire he shouldn’t have expressed out loud.

“No, not really. I just thought––” but he’s unsure how to continue. “Did he… did he not tell you guys that we met on the subway at the end of October?” 

Five heads all shake in unison, but––there. Jinyoung has always been overly perceptive when he wants to be and he catches that split second of hesitation, an almost rehearsed response to a question that it seems like they’d known he was going to ask. Something burns low in his stomach: anger, confusion, he’s not sure what. It’s possible that Jaebum really hadn’t told them: in fairness, he hadn’t told them either until just now. But it had seemed like the only thing that would earn him a response and he feels stupid when it isn't the wanted he had wanted.

“No, he didn’t,” Jackson pipes up, elbow to elbow with Mark and leaning out a little so that Jinyoung can see his face. He wishes that he hadn’t: he just looks sad, and Jinyoung can’t tell if it’s sadness at the obvious divide still pulling them apart or just pure pity that Jinyoung would still have some hope left after all this time.

“Oh.”

Silence follows. Everyone seems so unsure of what to say. Their three youngest are all looking at each other, communicating silently while Mark and Jackson watch Jinyoung swallow roughly and look back down at his plate. Part of him wonders if he should explain it, if he should tell them how the night on the subway ended with Jaebum’s fingers igniting wildfire across his cheekbone and his piceous eyes dripping with longing, but it seems like it no longer matters. The stifled silence only continues as Jinyoung stares at the blue and white porcelain in front of him for a moment before picking up his chopsticks and continuing to eat. 

They both had changed so much in the last year. It is a testament to this when Jinyoung looks up from his food to see the five of them watching him with worried eyes. He raises his eyebrows but the looks don't dissipate with the feigned look of disinterest plastered sloppily across his features. “What? It was just a question.”

Nobody believes him and he doesn’t believe himself, but they let the moment pass. The sounds of eating resume as does the regular, overlapping chatter of six long-time friends as they spend a holiday together. Though the atmosphere never quite returns to what it was before he had brought up Jaebum, the heavy feeling in his stomach passes until it is gone and is replaced by one that is full and joyful with just the barest singeing of sadness on the edges. They laugh together, drink too much soju and wine; they talk too loud and when the dishes are cleared away and they end up in the living room to exchange presents, it turns into a contest of who got whom the best gift and how quickly those deemed the losers can escape from the heavy hands of punishment. Jinyoung feels a little bit of himself repaired by the laughter that permeates Mark and Jackson’s living room, despite the heart shaped hole Jaebum’s absence has left in his chest.

The night wanes and eventually they’re all rubbing their eyes tiredly, goodbyes broken up by yawns as the three youngest make their way downstairs when their cab arrives. Jinyoung waits for his upstairs, pulling his jacket tighter around his shoulders against the blast of cold air that the door lets in when Mark slips back into the room. Jackson has already fallen asleep on the couch beside him, blonde hair mussed against Jinyoung’s denim clad thigh and handsome face slack with the peacefulness of sleep. Jinyoung watches him fondly and ignores the way Mark is staring at him from his place against the wall near the door.

“Jinyoungah.”

He closes his eyes. After so many years, he’s attuned to the sound of Mark’s voice when he’s about to open up a line of questioning that isn’t going to be painless. Jinyoung has always admired Mark’s talent of delivering the things that no one else wants to say: it must be hard to be the brave one all the time, and though he’s not always happy with the things that Mark says, he can appreciate the courage that it requires to be honest and open in a way that the other boys can’t. In a life steeped with lies he can’t seem to recover from, the blunt edge of Mark’s personality oddly soothes him.

“What?” 

“I know Jackson said he didn’t, but Jaebum did tell us about that night on the subway.”

Jinyoung holds back the childish retort of  _ I knew it!  _ that he feels formulate on his tongue. Instead he opens his eyes and pretends to be particularly endeared by the unlined beauty of Jackson’s sleeping face. “Oh.”

Mark’s stare is heavy on the side of his face and getting harder to ignore. “You knew he was lying, didn’t you?”

It’s posed like a question but Jinyoung knows he’d meant it as more of a statement, wanting just the acknowledgment than an actual answer. Jinyoung finally turns to him and shrugs half heartedly. Whereas once he would have stood indignantly and turned red at having the truth drawn out for him when he had known there was a lie covering the top of it, the fight has bled out of him and he offers up nothing else. 

“Do you want to know what he said?”

Jinyoung looks at him. “Who? Jackson?” 

“No. Jaebum.”

He turns his head and swallows. 

_ Yes.  _ “I guess.”

“He said that he had no idea that you were going to be there, but when he saw you sitting with your eyes closed alone in the subway car, it was like he somehow knew it was exactly where you were supposed to be. He told me that he’d never felt so resigned and so relieved at the same time.”

The off white carpet is a stained vision against the back of his eyelids when they slip shut at Mark’s voice; it is the steady and calm in the utter rockiness of everything else. “What does that even mean?” 

He hears the older boy sigh but doesn’t open his eyes. Even without doing so he can picture the way that Mark is leaned against the wall with his long, skinny arms folded across his narrow chest. “He also told me about what  _ you  _ said.”

“What about it?”

“I wish you could have heard the sound of his voice when he told me that you said you wanted to see him again, Jinyoungah,” Mark says, and he opens his eyes now at the emotion that strangles his deep voice. Jinyoung knows he’s a big, soft-hearted lover at his core but it’s rare that Mark expresses it so nakedly.

The ringing of Jinyoung’s phone breaks the silence that has accumulated after Mark’s confession. Without looking down he knows it’s the cab driver calling to say that he’s arrived, but his eyes are locked on Mark’s and all the air leaves the room like a vacuum now that he’s on the cusp of some great discovery that for once Mark couldn’t bear to hide. The first insight to how Jaebum might be feeling in a way that isn’t veiled in obscurity or actions that could be interpreted to mean  _ goodbye  _ instead of  _ you will.  _

“Mark––”

“Your cab is here. You should go downstairs so that you don’t miss it.”

Jinyoung’s voice is pleading when he stands, heart thumping painfully in his chest that Mark could let him walk out the door without knowing what he’d meant. Jackson turns restlessly on the couch with murmured words under his breath but both of them ignore it. 

“Please,” he says, and he hates how broken his voice sounds. “Just tell me what he meant.” 

Mark opens the door. In the dim light of the porch he can see the white flakes of snow that swirl and dance in the blackness beyond the top of the stairs; a memory sweeps in painfully of the time he’d laid on the hood of a car with Yugyeom and let the frost burn his face because he was desperate to feel something, anything. Jinyoung is ushered out into the cold by Mark’s firm hand and he turns to catch the look on his face as he leans in the doorway.

“It means just give him time. Then he’ll be ready.”

The older boy points downstairs to the impatient cab driver that honks at Jinyoung’s reluctance to move. The painted green door closely softly in his face, but for once it doesn’t feel malicious. He stays for just a moment longer, eyes fixed on the natural patterns on the wood, a feeling in his chest that has settled for the first time in a long time. For once Mark had left out the double entendre of unspoken words and have given him everything in a single breath. There are still the two words hanging off the end of the sentence that he chose not to speak but where there nonetheless when he’d held Jinyoung’s eyes as he closed the door.

_ Then he’ll be ready. _

_ For you.  _

Jinyoung turns and waves as he walks down the stairs, a cautious smile tugging impatiently at the corners of his mouth. Flurries of white cover the shoulders of his jacket and lay to rest in his dark, wavy hair as he crunches across dead grass to the sidewalk where his cab is waiting to take him home. For the first time in a long time, there’s a feeling inside him that inches closer to content. 

 

******

  
  


With a sigh he digs his cellphone from his pocket where it’s ringing for the third time in under five minutes. He’d dressed a little inappropriately for the cold: tight jeans and a black sweater layered over the top of a white dress shirt is all he’d left with despite it being the dead of winter. Jinyoung had figured that if he was going to be drinking all night and cooped up in Mark and Jackson’s apartment with a bunch of other people all shoved into his space, it was best not to wear a heavy jacket. 

“What?” he says, shielding his eyes from the wind as he steps up onto the curb of the sidewalk outside of their apartment. The grass that had just been crunching under his shoes a week ago was now covered in a thin layer of snow, and he’s careful to avoid it so his leather shoes don’t get wet.

“Where the hell are you?” Jackson shouts, and he can tell by the volume of his voice competing with the background noise that a, there’s a lot of people in their house and b, Jackson is already quite drunk. “It’s already ten and you’re not here yet!” 

With a roll of his eyes he wishes any of them could see, he pounds up the stairs and knocks on the door. “I’m literally outside. Come let me in.” 

_ “Let  _ you in?” Jackson asks incredulously, and despite the nervousness humming in his veins at the moment, he still finds the will to laugh. “This is a party. Let yourself in, loser.” 

And then he hangs up. 

Jinyoung just sighs, sliding his phone back into his front pocket while he hesitates to grab the doorknob. The brass is cold when his fingertips touch it, prompting him to just grip it and twist but he decides at the last moment to freeze instead of push the door open.

It’s New Year's Eve, and he hasn’t heard from Jaebum at all in the two months that had passed since their fated meeting on the subway. Despite the lack of contact, Jinyoung hadn’t stopped thinking of him for even a moment; thoughts of Jaebum had been clouding his mind more and more over the course of the long days and it seemed like there would never be an end to the tirade of feelings that accompanied the memories he didn’t want to be reliving if Jaebum wasn’t there to share them. Mark had given him some strange scrap of hope the night of their Christmas party with his parting words of  _ just give him time, then he’ll be ready.  _ But hope is something he’d learned to part with early, and the fact that he would have to inevitably face Jaebum at some point during this party with the both of them knowing what the other had said in the subway car but not acknowledging it keeps him from opening the door. 

_ Get it together, Park,  _ he says to himself, closing his eyes behind the thick black frames of his glasses while he clenches his teeth. His fingers start to ache where they’re curled tightly around the doorknob, exposed to the bitter cold as the wind sweeps up and ruffles his hair. Jinyoung loses himself in his thoughts for a moment, desperately trying to hype himself up to go inside and exist in the same place as Jaebum for an extended length of time since their last fight a year before. 

It’s during this silent chanting of a mantra that he doesn’t hear someone else come up the stairs until the space of the porch becomes warmer and a familiar voice speaks softly behind him.

“Are you going to open the door, or just stand out here and freeze?” 

Jinyoung jerks, doorknob rattling as he lets go of it as though it had burned him. He turns quickly, backed up as far as possible to keep the limited space that the porch offers him. Jaebum just looks at him and Jinyoung’s heart squeezes in the most painful way: he looks unfairly handsome, dressed in jeans ripped stylishly along the knees and thighs and a white button up shirt that looks stupidly good on him where he’s got it tucked in. Resting across his shoulders is a cardigan identical to the one burning a hole through his closet floor but instead of grey it's a pretty, unblemished black.

“Hi, Jinyoungie,” he says, his smile turning from playful to cautious at the lack of Jinyoung’s reaction. After two months of emptiness, Jinyoung isn’t sure what to expect from Jaebum’s favorite nickname for him rolling easily off his tongue. 

Jinyoung swallows and watches the spot over his shoulder instead of at his face. “Hi, Jaebum.”

Even though he hasn’t really felt it in years, he knows that Jaebum is staring at him by the way his skin prickles dangerously, undeterred by the cold around them. Though he’s not looking right at him, he can see the way Jaebum’s eyes follow the length of his body down to his shoes and then right back up his face. 

“You look really nice,” he says, softer than he should, and Jinyoung’s heart stutters. 

“T-thanks,” he stutters, straightening off the door and intending to say something else like  _ so do you, god, you look so handsome it hurts me,  _ but before he can the wood disappears from behind him and noise washes over anything he had been about to say.

“There you both are!” Jackson crows, and Jinyoung barely has time to say Jaebum’s name before he feels Jackson’s hand curling in the collar of his shirt and yanking him backward into the apartment. Jinyoung gags when the top button digs into his throat, grunting as he swings an elbow down and lands it right in between two of Jackson’s ribs. The older boy loosens his grip and almost drops, but he’s back quickly when he slides an arm around Jinyoung’s neck and pulls him down.

“You’re here!” he shouts and Christ, he’s so drunk already. Jinyoung knows the party started at 8 but good  _ lord,  _ Jackson practically reeks of shitty vodka. 

Prying Jackson’s arm from his neck, he stands up and smooths his clothes back into place with a dismayed glance in his direction, who just returns it with a foolish grin. 

“Does Mark know you’re this drunk already?” 

He laughs, loud and high pitched. “He doesn’t care! He started drinking before I did!” 

Once more slinging his arm around Jinyoung’s shoulders––thankfully not around his neck, sparing him the suffocation––he points his other hand at where Mark is engaged in a very intense game of beer pong with some of the other American students he’d met at university. His handsome face is concentrated but flushed with a very obvious red across the high planes of his cheekbones.

Suddenly there’s a drink being shoved into his hand by Jackson, who hadn’t moved. He stares into the cup of pink liquid and wonders how he’d gotten it. 

“Guess I have a lot of catching up to do, huh?” 

With a hearty slap on the back, Jackson nods, solemn as he can be before he breaks into a wide, blinding smile. “Oh, yeah, buddy. You have a  _ lot  _ of catching up to do.” 

  
  
  
  


Although he’d seen Jaebum on the porch, he barely seems him except in stolen glances and blurry passing as Jinyoung attempts to catch up. He’s not really feeling the vibe as well as everyone else is, perhaps, but getting swept up in the current of people that flow back and forth through Mark and Jackson’s apartment is oddly comforting. Normally he’d be standing against the wall and talking to a select group of people while pounding drinks, but tonight he finds himself drifting from group to group, always with the same cup in his hand, sipping casually as he learns new names and forgets them halfway into the next. He finishes his drink slowly and refills. Rinse, repeat. 

The more he drinks, the less hyper aware of Jaebum’s presence he becomes, but it’s still a lingering thought in the back of his mind even as he migrates around to the different cliques that have seemed to form through the layout of the apartment. He’d really like to sit on the couch, but it’s currently occupied by someone smoking what he’s pretty sure isn’t a cigarette and a guy and a girl making out as though they’re alone in the room. But he just keeps making the rounds instead, inserting himself into conversations that have no real train of thought anyway since everyone is wasted and then drawing out of them a couple minutes later. The apartment isn’t that big: it’s much bigger than Jinyoung’s and bigger than Jaebum’s had been, but with the amount of people packed in like sardines it doesn’t exactly feel spacious. Despite the size of the house he has yet to run into Jaebum alone or in the groups he’d weaved in and out of. Tipsy now, he’s in the middle of wondering if Jaebum is avoiding him when Youngjae comes up to him, face flushed in the adorable way it does when he’s only had a drink or two, and asks him how he’s feeling. 

“I’m okay,” he says, leaning his head against the wall with his arms crossed, one hand still holding the drink he’s had since it turned 11. 

“You seem kind of tired, hyung,” Youngjae says, eyes serious despite the hazy shine in them, and it makes Jinyoung’s heart warm at the care from him dongsaeng. 

He is tired. Jinyoung isn’t necessarily physically tired of the party (although he kind of is; breaking up with Hyunwoo and then getting an under the table job with his professor kind of established a routine that had him in bed before ten on most weeknights and the frequent weekend) but moreso just tired of putting on an act. He’s tired of putting on an act for everyone he meets tonight, trying to be the sociable and fun and clever boy that he’d been before he’d had his heart yanked out. He’s tired of scanning the room for Jaebum and being disappointed when he doesn’t see him. After all the time they’d spent apart, the two miniscule times they’ve interacted that weren’t based in trying to tear each other’s throats out feel like rarities and he’s tired of that, too. It’s the same sort of tired resignation that he’d felt when he’d woken up the morning that he’d broken up with Hyunwoo and realized that he’ll never be truly happy if Jaebum isn’t with him and so it’s pointless to try and act happy at all.

“I’m a little tired, yeah,” he says, nodding, wishing that the party could be over already. Jinyoung just wants the countdown to start and end so he can call a cab and go home to lay in the dark and pretend like the new year will bring something different. 

“And you look…” Youngjae pauses. “Kind of sad.”

Jinyoung puts a hand on his shoulder. “I’m okay. I promise.” 

“Maybe you should drink more, hyung,” Youngjae suggests, holding his cup out to Jinyoung while he laughs. 

“Yah, Youngjae, aren’t  _ you _ supposed to be the one getting pressured?” another voice says, and he’d be damned if he didn’t recognize it by the intake of breath alone. 

Jinyoung half turns to see Jaebum squeezed into the small space right behind Jinyoung. There’s people at his back, packing them all in shoulder to shoulder where they’re in the dining room. The table has been removed and replaced with a shitty little fold out one, which has in turn been shoved to the side to make more room for the people currently shouting and laughing beside them. Jinyoung looks up at Jaebum who’s looking at Youngjae while the noise of the crowd swells to a steady roar in his ears. 

Youngjae laughs behind him. “That’s true. Sorry, hyung,” he says, and then with a friendly elbow to Jinyoung’s ribs he’s forcing his way through some the throng of people around them to disappear in the kitchen. Presumably for more alcohol. 

He’s not drunk by any means, but he can still feel the buzzing of cheap vodka in his veins as he looks away from Jaebum’s face and down into his cup. He sighs quietly and swirls the liquid around, watching it circle the edges as he desperately tries to think of something to say and comes up with nothing. 

“Thanks,” he says finally, and Jaebum looks over at him. He hates how awkward it feels: his stomach hurts, and suddenly the smell of alcohol no longer makes him want to have a good time but makes him want to puke instead. It’s so out of place, the discomfort, and he hates the way that he’s so easily thrown away 24 years of comfort just because he couldn’t get his feelings under control. Just because he felt like Jaebum didn’t feel the same and there was never any reason to even try to talk it out.

“He’s right, though,” Jaebum says quietly, but Jinyoung doesn’t look up. “You do look tired.”

“I am, yeah,” he says, more honestly than when he’d told Youngjae just a moment ago, but now that it’s directed at Jaebum it’s a different conversation entirely. “I’m really tired, hyung.” 

Still looking down, he sees Jaebum’s fingers where they’re gripping a glass but still feels them when Jaebum reaches out to ghost them across the exposed skin of Jinyoung’s wrist. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t call.” 

He swallows around the pain in his throat that hurts like swallowed razor blades. “It’s okay.” 

“No, it’s not,” he says, breathing out hard. Jinyoung finally looks up in time to see him run his free hand through his hair in that achingly familiar gesture of frustration. “I just––I don’t know. Seeing you on the subway after all that time, it––I can’t describe it. I was already so done with the fighting by then and just seeing you there, I––”

He stops, mouth open like he’d lost his train of thought. Jinyoung watches his face and makes a conscious effort to keep his own face clear of emotion: no matter how much Jaebum’s weird, fumbling apology makes hope spark like a tinder to damp kindling, he knows just how deceiving it can be. After a quiet moment of eye contact not unlike that the night in the subway car, Jaebum’s shoulders drop as he sighs.

“I don’t know what the fuck I’m trying to say.” 

He tries so hard to keep a straight face: Jinyoung closes his eyes for a brief second, biting on his lower lip hard to keep the smile from forming, but it comes anyway. His face splits in a smile and then he’s hiding a quiet laugh behind his hand. Jaebum seems even more speechless than he had before: his lips part like he’d been about to add something else, but he looks as if he’s fixated on the way Jinyoung’s eyes fold with the smile instead. Jaebum tries not to laugh back, but his own mouth curves in a smile and he knocks Jinyoung’s shoulder with his. 

“Don’t laugh at me, asshole,” he mutters, but it lacks the heat that Jinyoung had become accustomed to in their last year and it just makes him want to smile harder that some of their old banter had returned. It’s slow, but the atmosphere of anger and betrayal seems to be slowly dissipating with every shared second. 

“Sorry,” he says with a shrug, hiding his grin around the rim of his glass as he takes another drink. He tries to avoid the tired fondness in Jaebum’s eyes but it’s difficult to look away when he’s finally getting to see him for the first time in what feels like a hundred lifetimes. 

“I really was going to call you, Jinyoungah,” he says, voice dropping into that soft, careful rhythm. Even after all the time apart Jinyoung can still hear the exhaustion in his voice and knows that it matches his. “I just needed time.”

_ Weird that it still feels too late,  _ he wants to say, a sour feeling in his stomach at the thought of it. He swallows roughly and goes to tell Jaebum that he’d do anything to have him back when suddenly both of their names are being called from the middle of the living room. 

“Yo! Jaebum hyung! Jinyoungie! Get over here!” Jackson’s arms wave frantically in the air over everyone’s head and they both look over at him. “We have less than ten minutes until midnight and we’re gonna take a group picture!”

Jaebum turns back to Jinyoung for a moment, just in time to see him roll his eyes and laugh. Jinyoung abandons his drink on the pushed back table and follows along in the path that Jaebum cuts through the mass of people. His fingers itch to reach out and grab Jaebum’s hand where he’s got it pressed up in the small of his back to take up as little room as possible, but he quickly damps the thought down as soon as it comes. Jaebum glances over his shoulder once to make sure he’s still following along and then they’re breaking through the crowd to where the other five are waiting. 

They’re already set up in some kind of weird arrangement, with the three youngest on their knees on the ground and Jackson’s arm around Mark’s shoulder right behind them. Mark waves them over while Jackson sweeps his arm dramatically: 

“Hurry up! We have like five minutes until the countdown starts!”

Laughing, Jaebum and Jinyoung take up the empty space next to Mark and behind Yugyeom and Youngjae. The person on the edge of the crowd has Jackson’s obnoxiously big phone in her hands, holding it up and messing around with it until she’s looking over the top of it. She asks them if they’re all ready and there’s a chorus of  _ yes!  _ that doesn’t have his voice in it, but he thinks that he’s too surprised to speak anyway when he feels Jaebum’s arm slide around his back. Jinyoung’s eyes widen and his throat tightens, hands uselessly at his sides while the camera flash bursts. The girl cheers for them, claiming she got a good one on the first try before tossing Jackson’s phone back to him and turning away. 

Jaebum’s arm disappears from his back and he hates that he’s disappointed by it as they move away to look at the picture on Jackson’s phone. Yugyeom points at it, bursting into laughter at Jinyoung’s expense:

“Hyung! Why do you look so scared?” 

_ I don’t know, maybe because I still don’t know if my future with Jaebum is certain or not.  _

Of course, he doesn’t say this, just shrugs and takes the berating from his friends easily. The anxiety has returned, despite Jaebum only being a few steps away from him; the rest of their group falls into conversation easily but Jinyoung finds that he doesn’t have much to say. He wishes that there were some words to describe just how much the last year has turned him completely upside down and how the absence of Jaebum in his life still throbs like an open wound, but everyone is drunk and pairing off so it doesn’t seem like a good time. He sighs instead, wrapping his arms around himself and trying to draw from his own warmth.

Before he realizes it, Jackson and Mark are both yelling at the top of their lungs that it’s 11:59pm. Jinyoung can’t help but feel a little sad: another year gone, one that had been painfully void of the one person that’s the most important to him, and another year on the cusp where his presence remains uncertain. Jinyoung looks up to see that everyone in the house is either already kissing or scrambling to find someone who will: he’s almost appalled to see Yugyeom grab Bambam by the tops of his arms and claim him as his new year’s kiss. He’s also almost equally as appalled when Youngjae manages to ask a random pretty girl in a surprising display of courage. Jinyoung wants to be surprised when Mark and Jackson are gazing at each other like they’ve been planning this for years, but he kind of isn’t: despite being relatively unconcerned with their relationship over the years, the two of them have always been incredibly less disastrous than himself and Jaebum and he figured it would happen eventually or not at all. He hates himself for being a little bitter. 

“Thirty seconds!” Yugyeom shouts, to a wave of responding cheers. He sighs again, wanting the countdown to be over when he feels another body being shoved into his.

“Oh, sorry,” Jaebum says, grabbing the tops of Jinyoung’s arms so that they don’t fall over as Yugyeom reels from the force of Bambam’s playful pushing. The room seems to get more crowded as everyone huddles in, watching the clock displayed across the TV in Mark and Jackson’s living room. Jaebum doesn’t let go of his arms and Jinyoung looks up at him. He wants to ask if Jaebum’s going to let go of him to find someone to kiss for New Year’s but he’s afraid of the answer, and he’s equally afraid that Jaebum would ask him the same thing and he’d have to look away in shame as he automatically responded  _ I don’t want to kiss anyone if I can’t kiss you _ in his head. 

“Fifteen seconds!” Jackson screams, and Jinyoung looks up at the same time that Jaebum turns his head when Bambam shouts,

“Yo! Kiss!” 

Jinyoung’s heart sinks when he realizes that Bambam is looking directly at him. Their second youngest frantically motions to the space between him and Jaebum where Jaebum is still holding onto the tops of his arms for support.

Jinyoung’s mouth drops open. “What?” 

“Kiss!” Bambam yells, and shoves Yugyeom’s shoulder so that he’ll join in. A cold sweat breaks out along Jinyoung’s neck when he feels Jaebum’s fingers tighten on his biceps while Yugyeom eggs them on, chanting  _ Kiss! Kiss! Kiss! Kiss!  _ until the rest of their friends are watching them and chanting it, too, while the party around them devolves into a chorus of numbers starting at ten. The countdown starts around them, their friends paired off but seemingly more interested in screaming at them to kiss each other than they are in joining in the countdown. Jaebum hasn’t looked over at him, still half turned to Bambam who yells at the top of his lungs. 

“Just kiss him, idiot! We know you want to!” 

Jinyoung isn’t sure who Bambam is actually talking to, but his stomach starts to hurt and he tries to break out of Jaebum’s grip. The crowd around them swells to a deafening chant as they hit five; five more seconds in the year and he’s going to spend it trying not to cry and he doing what he’s best at and run away from it all. 

He never gets the chance to, though. Even as he’s trying to pry Jaebum’s fingers from the tops of his arms, his hands loosen their grip and slide up his shoulders. Jinyoung hears the  _ three, two,  _ of the crowd as Jaebum’s hands trail up and settle on his neck, warm and comforting between his palms while his thumbs rest underneath Jinyoung’s jaw. He’s weak and a puppet to the pressure that Jaebum applies to his jawline, his head tipping back enough that Jaebum can lean down and press their mouths together. 

The collective screaming of  _ Happy New Year!  _ from tens of voices is lost as Jaebum kisses him.

A feeling explodes in his chest at the feeling of Jaebum’s lips on his, soft and intent. Jinyoung’s hands come up of their own accord to grip Jaebum’s elbows; he lets his eyes slip closed at the gentleness in which Jaebum cradles his face as the kiss draws out. Jaebum seems a little stiff, like he’s afraid, pulling away to look at Jinyoung’s face for the briefest of seconds before he makes a decision to kiss him again, harder. Jinyoung’s fingers dig into Jaebum’s arms as their lips move; fireworks are exploding over and over in his chest, a plethora of emotions blooming in his body like a flower as Jaebum parts his lips with a gentle tongue. Hope spreads through his blood as he gasps quietly against Jaebum’s mouth, letting him in, knees growing weak at the teasing of Jaebum’s tongue against his teeth. Emotion swallows him whole as he moves his hands and slides them into Jaebum’s hair, holding his head in place as Jinyoung tilts his head to the side and deepens the kiss. 

Their friends are all cheering at the top of their lungs but Jinyoung barely hears it. Everything in the world has tunneled down to this, the white noise of Jaebum’s hitched breath as his tongue slides against Jinyoung’s in his mouth, lips brushing against his with the urgency of a house on fire. The space between their bodies disappears as one of Jaebum’s hands leaves his neck to rest on his waist, pulling him close until they’re flush together and nipping at each other’s mouths. Flames explode at every point of contact between their bodies: this is what he’d been missing then, the year they’d been apart. All of the nights spent alone and the fighting and the blood had been wasted when they could have been like this, kissing until their lips swell as their friends scream faintly in the background while confetti bursts in his head over and over. Jaebum’s tongue licks into his mouth harder, seeking more resistance but finding none as Jinyoung opens wider and goes pliant in his grip. This is the feeling that they’d been missing for the last year of their lives; wildfire and molten gold pouring through his veins as Jaebum kisses him like he’s dying. It’s the way that every nerve ending lights up with desire and some deeper seated emotion like true happiness even as Jaebum pulls away with a blush on his face but refuses to let go of him.

He had missed this. Feeling alive. 

 

******

 

Needless to say, everyone goes fucking nuts over their kiss. They don’t hear the end of it for the next hour that the party goes on: all five of their other friends are over the goddamn moon about it, Yugyeom getting close to tears at one point that they’ve finally been reunited and they can be a normal group again. Jinyoung tells him that he’s being way too overdramatic as he cuffs him lightly upside the head, but the truth is that he’s feeling the same way right about now with Jaebum’s arm wrapped around his waist and adamant about not letting go. 

The night drags on; people begin to trickle out of the house around 2 AM and the six of them (minus Jackson, who, of course, has already fallen asleep in his bedroom down the hallway) spend their time cleaning up what they can around the people who’ve elected to stay over instead of drive as they’re passed out on the floor. Some had the good sense to bring their own pillows, but most are couples who’ve found some sort of drunken comfort in sleeping on each other’s stomachs. Jinyoung doesn’t feel too bitter, though; he tries to hide a smile at the lingering feeling of Jaebum’s fingertips on his lower back as he talks to Mark across the room. 

It’s not until 3:30 that everyone who is leaving is gone and the apartment has fallen into an almost jarring hush. Youngjae went home with the girl he kissed, earning many high fives from his friends before the two youngest passed out on the floor by the couch. Mark ushered the last couple of people from the living room and out the front door before closing it, drunkenly wishing them good night before turning off the light and disappearing into his own room on the other end. After quietly stealing the blanket off of Bambam and Yugyeom while burying their laughter in each other’s shoulders, it’s just the two of them curled up on the couch in the dark and quiet.

“Jinyoungah,” Jaebum whispers, pulling the blanket tighter around Jinyoung’s shoulders where they’re leaning against each other. “What are you thinking about?”

“Nothing really,” he says, and it’s honest: what’s there to think about, now? The entire party he’d been so worried that everything Jaebum had said was either a flat out lie or just a bookmark in a conversation that he didn’t want to have until later. But every worry and every fear had been dissolved underneath the feeling of Jaebum’s mouth when he’d pressed them together. “Kind of thinking about asking you to kiss me again.”

As though he hasn’t stolen a million since midnight, Jaebum just smiles softly in the low light peeking in the blinds off the patio and leans in. His hand comes up to rest on Jinyoung’s neck again, thumb caressing his jawline as he tilts his head to brush his lips across Jinyoung’s. Heat sparks across the delicate skin; Jinyoung makes a noise like desire in his throat and asks without words for Jaebum to kiss him again, harder. And like the way they’d been able to communicate so inherently with body language before they’d stopped watching, Jaebum understands what he’s asking for and gently bites at his bottom lip. Jinyoung parts them easily, whole body going up as Jaebum slides his tongue in slow.

They make out for a little bit, aware that they aren’t necessarily alone in the living room but not really giving a shit, either. Jaebum’s mouth is greedy and insistent, kissing him roughly and breathing out shakily while Jinyoung inhales. Oxygen passes back and forth between their mouths until Jinyoung nips back, getting Jaebum’s lower lip between his teeth and tugging playfully as he pulls away a little bit. A heat wave passes over his body when Jaebum moans softly, chasing his mouth, catching the corner and trailing impatient kisses across his face until his lips are at the curve of Jinyoung’s jaw underneath his ear. The constant back and forth of their kisses has Jaebum shifting, lying him down until he’s resting his weight on one hand while the other still grips his face. His breath hitches dangerously as Jaebum’s hand slides down to his hip, curious fingers trying to get underneath Jinyoung’s sweater while his swollen mouth finds the sensitive spot behind Jinyoung’s ear and sucks. An embarrassingly loud moan escapes him; he blushes in the dark as Jaebum buries his face in his shoulder and laughs. 

Clicking his tongue against his teeth in distaste, Jinyoung hits him on the shoulder. Jaebum pulls away and acts wounded, rubbing it dramatically before letting his hand find Jinyoung’s over his head and slides their palms together. Jinyoung feels his heart thump nervously against his chest as they intertwine their fingers and watch each other in the dark.

“Jinyoungie,” Jaebum breathes, and it sound so... _ earnest,  _ so fulfilled and raw like he’d said his name just to feel it on his tongue. Jinyoung swallows around the emotion that crawls up his throat.

“Hyung––” 

“Wait, me first,” Jaebum says, and he feels the older boy’s fingers tighten around his like he’s scared Jinyoung is going to pull away, despite having him pinned down with the comforting weight of his body. “I know, the last year has been so terrible, we’ve done––we’ve done terrible things, to ourselves, and to each other. I know that you know this isn’t going to be easy. We’ve known each other our whole lives, Jinyoungah, but I feel like in the last year I lost sight of who I was and who you were and we have to get to know each other again.” His voice breaks, wavering at the end, and even in the dark Jinyoung can see the gleam of tears in his eyes. “We have so much to talk about, I know, and I promise you I’ll stop kissing you long enough to talk about it. Just––please,” he begs, voice strained, “just tell me you want this.”

Jinyoung squeezes Jaebum’s fingers with his own, other hand reaching up to grip the back of his neck. He can feel Jaebum’s arm shaking where he’s holding himself up, and he wonders if it’s from the strain or because he’s scared. Though he’d deny it later, Jinyoung’s heart soars at the thought of Jaebum being scared after everything that happened, after every awful thing that Jinyoung pulled on him. That, after all this time, Jaebum would still be afraid to lose him. 

He feels Jaebum’s body uncoil with relief when Jinyoung brushes their lips together, just once, shadowed in the darkness of Mark and Jackson’s apartment. Jinyoung turns to his side, tugging on Jaebum’s hand so that he drops down behind him and pulls him closer until there’s an absolute lack of space between their bodies fitted together on the couch. The steady beating of Jaebum’s heart against his back makes his eyes heavy; he laces his fingers with Jaebum’s over his stomach and takes a deep breath in, the first breath of the new year that fills his lungs with something other than dread. Goosebumps erupt down the lengths of his arms as he feels Jaebum’s nose burying in the hair at the back of his neck, the tiniest of kisses planted to the skin bringing him the sweetest of promises. 

“I want it, hyung. More than you could ever know.”

  
  


**SIX MONTHS LATER**

  
  
  


Jaebum doesn’t believe in all that fate shit; God having a plan and the stars aligning and paths being laid out before you’re born all just sounds like bullshit to him. But, if he had to believe in anything of the sort, he would begrudgingly admit that he and Park Jinyoung had been made for each other. 

When he’d told Jinyoung the night of New Year’s that it wasn’t going to be easy, he’d meant it. And he knew that Jinyoung understood that  _ not easy  _ had meant  _ really fucking hard.  _ They’d essentially instilled trust issues in each other that had to be worked out like kinks in a garden hose. The things that they had done and said to each other had to be laid out and rehashed like opening an infected wound; there was no lack of fights or crying just because they had suddenly grown tired of fighting forever and realized they belonged together. Despite their willingness to try, trying turned out to be much harder than they’d planned. It’s one thing for a good relationship to get rocky, but they’d started their official relationship on rocky ground and then kept walking until they were standing on rubble. But once you hit bottom, there’s nowhere to go but up. 

Now, after months of talking and working through all the things that had happened in their year apart, Jaebum spends more time in Jinyoung’s tiny apartment then he does his own. He’s been trying to convince Jinyoung to just move into his place, but his boyfriend (and how weird that still is, even though now that the worst is behind them, that he can say such a thing about him) seems oddly attached to the place. He doesn’t  _ really  _ mind, though: smaller place means he has an excuse to stay cuddled up to Jinyoung all day so he can’t really complain. His apartment hasn’t been entirely abandoned, though, and it’s one night at his own place that Jinyoung brings a certain book to bed. 

“Hyung,” he says, dressed only in one of his oversized shirts and boxers, looking frustratingly perfect despite not paying any attention to Jaebum. “Look what I found.” 

He holds the thin volume cover out so Jaebum can see it. It’s the poetry book Jinyoung had gotten him in high school as a gift, and the one he’d subsequently destroyed that day they'd fought after hooking up. Jinyoung must have found it earlier while he was taking a shower. 

“Oh. Yeah––” Jaebum tries to take it but Jinyoung makes a face and pulls it away out of his reach. Jinyoung climbs onto the bed on his knees, folding them underneath him as he stares down at the ruined book in his hands. 

“What did you do to this, Jaebum?” he whispers, and the genuine guilt feels like a punch in the gut at the devastation on Jinyoung’s face. Jaebum watches as his thin fingers trace the bends in the cover and flip through the torn, blood-stained pages. 

He sighs. “It was a hard day. We’d just gotten in a fight and I’d punched a picture frame and then shoved the bookcase over and it just happened to get in the way.” Jaebum rests a hand on the bare skin of Jinyoung’s thigh, warm and taut under his palm. “I’m sorry, Jinyoungah. I’d never meant to ruin it.”

Jinyoung doesn’t reply for a moment, closing his eyes and holding it to his chest. Jaebum just watches him, feeling the guilt climb notch after notch in his chest the longer that Jinyoung grips the tattered book that had contained the first confession of his love. After a few quiet moments of Jaebum stroking his thigh comfortingly while Jinyoung clutches the volume close to his heart, the younger boy clears his throat and leans over to set it on his bedside table. 

Jaebum swallows as Jinyoung throws a leg over his hip, straddling his waist and looking down at him with darkened eyes. His breath hitches, grabbing at Jinyoung’s wrist as he runs his hands down Jaebum’s bare chest and leaves burning trails of desire in their wake. 

“Don’t be sorry, hyung,” he murmurs, a handsome smirk pulling up the corner of his mouth. “You can make it up to me.” 

  
  
  
  


Some time in the middle of the night after they’d finished having sex and laid down, Jaebum half wakes up to the sound of Jinyoung moving on his side of the bed. He cracks open an eye and looks over his shoulder to see the blueish glow of Jinyoung’s phone flashlight, propped up on one elbow with the blanket pooled around his bare waist. Jaebum wants to ask what he’s doing, if he’s alright, but the light from Jinyoung’s phone switches off and he lays back down. Jinyoung’s hand finds his hip in the dark and he scoots closer, curling up against his back until the warmth of his body lulls Jaebum back to sleep.

In the morning, he wakes up and Jinyoung has already left for work with his professor. Jaebum stretches tiredly, yawning and looking over at Jinyoung’s side of the bed wishing that he was still in it and still naked, but comforted knowing  that he won’t be gone long. Jinyoung’s side of the blanket is pulled up and tucked under the pillow, and lying on top of the white fabric is the poetry book that he’d brought to bed the night before. There’s a red ribbon trailing from the bottom of it, one that Jaebum hasn’t seen before and is pretty sure that wasn’t in the book in all the years he’d owned it. Still blinking sleep from his eyes, his heartbeat picks up nervously as he holds it and thinks of the first quote Jinyoung had highlighted for him, some kind of message that he hadn’t been able to understand then.

When he opens the book, the red ribbon slides out and falls to his chest. Jinyoung had put it between the pages as a bookmark, and the thought of it makes him smile. The spine cracks and the pages crinkle in distress as the red ribbon leads him to a familiar page: a single highlighted line catches his eye, one that he’d read over and over across the years trying to find some deeper meaning of when it had been right in front of him all along. It makes his heart ache just a little to know that Jinyoung had tried to tell him inside someone else’s words and he just hadn’t understood. 

Jaebum is about to close the book when he realizes that there’s a fresh marking in the book. Highlighted in a bright yellow similar to the first, is a another single line from the same poem: 

_ You’re all I’ve ever wanted and worth dying for, too. _

 

 

♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks!!! again, the poem referenced is richard siken's wishbone. 
> 
> to everyone who has kept up along the way and to the people who waited until it was all done to read––thank you from the bottom of my heart for being here. if it wasn't for you, i don't know that this would have happened the way it did; i have a tendency to not finish the things that i start but everyone's passion for this really kept me going and it means the world to me that you guys stuck around until the end. and even if you showed up as the last chapter posted, you kept me going to, giving me a reason to finish ♡ i really appreciate all the comments and all of the really kind words people have left in my curious cat and on twitter about this (and my other stuff too!), when i say it means the world to me, it really, really does. i wouldn't be here if it wasn't for you guys ♡
> 
> i want to especially thank dragana, kay, chil, tina....just...everyone who listened to me lament about how it was going and read pieces and parts out of context (or entire chapters) and giving me the confidence i needed to march on. 
> 
> i love you all, thank you so much ♡


	17. xvii. epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> so you thought it was over, huh?
> 
> surprise!! 
> 
> ♡

Standing on the porch step of Jinyoung's tiny studio apartment, Jaebum shoves the hand not holding the bouquet of flowers in his pocket so that he doesn't have to watch it shake. 

After a lifetime of friendship and two solid years of dating, he thinks it's both stupid and adolescent that he still gets nervous picking Jinyoung up for dates. He's mused in past instances of pillowtalk that moving in together would ease some of the awkward, teenage tension he feels at knocking on Jinyoung’s door for dinner, but his boyfriend has steadfastly refused on the grounds that he's determined to make sure they don’t misstep and go too fast, breaking everything they've worked on for the past four years of their lives. It's a little silly, sure; the silliness is only exacerbated by the fact that Jinyoung practically already lives with him, his clothes and shoes and poetry books littered in every corner of the apartment. He has a key, they share a bed, have sex in the shower and brush their teeth elbow to elbow over the tiny bathroom sink. There are still nights when Jinyoung goes to his own apartment, staying there for days and only meeting Jaebum for dinner and movies and maybe a quickie when Jaebum walks him back upstairs. But any argument Jaebum makes in favor of them just coexisting permanently is met with a determined resistance to  _ do this right.  _

He would say he didn't mind it, but he's had quite enough of lying these days. 

It doesn't make him angry so much as it makes him endearingly frustrated. They spent so much time denying themselves the pleasures that they'd both so cleverly tried to hide but in the end revealed like a poorly done magic trick. They’ve jumped all the hurdles that have been in their way thus far only to end up here, roadblocked by Jinyoung’s unspoken anxiety that taking the final, blind leap into being 100% a couple and completely and utterly enmeshing their lives could break them irreparably. 

But that ends tonight. Jaebum is sure of it. 

Before he has time to check his other pocket, the door swings open and soft yellow light floods the porch. Jinyoung blocks it suddenly, his lean body in the doorway and haloed by the glow. The halogen of the porch light illuminates him from the front and suddenly Jaebum’s tie feels too tight at his throat: Jinyoung has always been handsome, painfully so, but tonight with the occasion at hand it feels like a knife in his stomach. He's dressed immaculately in a turtleneck so clean and deep of a black that if it weren't for the gray suit jacket layered over the top of it, the edges of him would be lost in the atmosphere of the night. 

The smile that spreads on his face twists the knife deeper, anxiety humming low in his blood like the steady plucking of a guitar string while his heart swells until it's too big for his chest. One leg crosses over the other as he leans against the frame, the steel gray of his dress pants ending in a crisp cut line right above the thin bones of bare ankles. Jaebum’s favorite shoes of his glisten in the light and Jaebum has to swallow the tidal wave of emotion that roars up the back of his throat like tears. His eyes are busy admiring the line of Jinyoung’s waist when he hears that soft, musical chuckle that, for once, comes unaccompanied by his slender hand over his mouth. 

“Yah, hyung,” Jinyoung says softly, and then there's two fingers walking up Jaebum’s chest before they're tapping underneath his chin. “My eyes are up here.”

He swallows nervously and tries to smile. “Sorry. You look so handsome, Jinyoungie.” 

Jinyoung’s earlier radiance dims a little as the corners of his mouth turn down and lines of concern form at the corners of his eyes. “Hyung? What's wrong?”

“Nothing,” he says, and hopes it's convincing. He turns his smile up brighter and is distantly dismayed when Jinyoung’s apprehensive nature diminishes only a fraction. “Nothing, baby.” 

Jinyoung suddenly straightens in the doorway. “You're breaking up with me, aren't you?” 

Horror flashes like a road flare in his stomach at the way Jinyoung’s face drains of color. Jaebum is immediately stepping forward, free hand frantically coming up to cup his face. “No! No, Jinyoung, God, not at all,” he says, too fast, sounding breathless. He lets go of Jinyoung’s face and steps back in order to hand Jinyoung the little bouquet in his left hand, clearing his throat nervously as he does. “Here, I brought you these. Jinyoungah, you really look so handsome.” 

A little more of the tension dissipates as Jinyoung breathes out in silent relief and reaches for the flowers. The white petals of the daisies are unfairly stunning up against the tanned skin of Jinyoung’s face, velvety touches on his cheeks and chin where he buries his nose in the thick of them. His eyelashes cast gorgeous shadows along his cheekbones, and Jaebum thinks it would be impossible to love him more than he already does. Jinyoung laughs, scrunching his nose and watching the heads of the daisies knock together in their tiny bundle from the wind of his breath. Though he's never been much of a poet, he can't help but think of all the ways to say how much his heart yearns to be a flower in this moment. 

“Hyung, they're so pretty,” he murmurs, and he clutches the bunch to his chest with one hand before he plucks one from the rubber band. Jinyoung measures the deep green stem against his coat pocket before breaking it off with a crisp  _ snap.  _ He reaches over, uncharacteristically shy as he slides the shortened stem into the breast pocket of Jaebum’s own shirt and smooths his flattened palm across his chest. A moment of admiration passes, Jinyoung staring at the way the little white flower contrasts in monochrome against the black of Jaebum’s button up shirt, before he pulls another flower from the bunch to give himself one to match. 

“What's the occasion?” Jinyoung asks, half turned to grab his keys from the hook by the door before he steps into Jaebum’s space to close it. He swivels his head when it's locked, a little startled to see that Jaebum hasn't moved and is still watching him with a heavy expression. Jaebum just licks his lips, a familiar warmth rising in his stomach when the younger boy watches the movement with his eyes.  _ Not yet _ , he tries to remind himself _ , not yet. There's something we have to do first.  _

“There's not one,” Jaebum says, leaning down the half inch or so he's got on Jinyoung to catch his mouth in a kiss. It distracts him for a moment, Jinyoung reaching up to grab the lapels of his suit jacket with both hands and pull him closer. The quick tug on Jinyoung’s tiny porch has Jaebum stumbling a bit, catching himself with one hand on Jinyoung’s back and the other on the front door while Jinyoung just giggles against his lips. Dinner is nearly forgotten as the kiss deepens; Jinyoung teases him with parted lips and a whimpered plea to feel his tongue that Jaebum happily obliges. It's only when he nips at Jinyoung’s swollen lower lip that elicits a quiet moan does Jaebum realize that they're going to be late. 

He kisses Jinyoung firmly on the mouth before pulling away, linking their fingers together and smiling at the look of disappointment on Jinyoung’s face. 

“What's the matter?” Jaebum teases, leading them down the stairs while Jinyoung plods audibly behind him in a childish display of disagreement.

“You can't just… kiss me like  _ that  _ and then pull away,” he whines, but the facade drops when they hit the parking lot and Jaebum uses his grip to pull him quickly against his chest. 

He looks down, at more of a height advantage with the way Jinyoung’s back drapes over the arm he slides around his waist. Nose to his jaw, Jaebum plants little tantalizing kisses along the skin of Jinyoung’s neck that make him writhe and breath out unevenly. 

“Later,” he promises against Jinyoung’s skin, mouth hot and body hotter at the reaction he's getting just from this. “Later, you can have me any way you want.”

“Hyung…”

Jaebum finally pulls away, leaving Jinyoung entirely to unlock his car with a soft smile. “C’mon. Get in.” 

 

** 

 

The restaurant Jaebum chose for them is fancy to say the least, and Jinyoung lets out a low, appreciative whistle when they step out of the car in the parking lot. 

One wall is entirely glass; it's a building with multiple floors belonging to different establishments, but the main three floors visible from the street and up seem to be dedicated to the restaurant. All the lights are dimmed and pretty, barely discernible amber glow from outside the tinted glass. Jaebum bumps into Jinyoung’s back where he’s stopped, neck craned as he soaks up the view with his eyes while people rush back and forth around them like salmon in a stream on the busy street once they hit the sidewalk. Jinyoung turns suddenly, lights from the nightlife shining in his eyes. 

“We’re really going here? Isn’t this place super expensive?” 

Jaebum shrugs. “Does it matter? I’m paying for it, anyway.” 

The pout that forms from Jinyoung’s bottom lip is supposed to be annoying, he supposes, but tonight everything is endearing and he can feel the surge of adoration as it comes like a gust of wind that blows through the spaces between his ribs. Jinyoung seems to notice the change on his face, as the pout disappears along with his argument of  _ but hyung, we agreed that we’d talk about it beforehand if one of us wants to pay for a whole date instead of splitting it. _ His eyebrow dips; the cute look is swallowed up by suspicion as Jinyoung holds Jaebum at arm’s length.

“What’s your deal?”

He can’t help the smile that curls at the corners of his mouth. “I don’t know what you mean.” 

“You’re being all...smiley.”

“I can’t be happy that I’m taking my hot boyfriend on a date?” 

Even in the changing lights around their heads and the dusky dark of night Jaebum can see the flush that burns along Jinyoung’s cheeks. He hits Jaebum’s chest weakly, stepping closer to rest his head on Jaebum’s shoulder like he’s huddling up for warmth. 

“You’re so  _ cheesy.”  _

“And? What’s your point?” 

Jinyoung pulls away, seemingly both dismayed and amused at Jaebum’s easy banter instead of adoringly frustrated that he’s getting better at it. He takes Jaebum’s hand and pulls him along, cutting across the steady stream of people on the street until they’re squeezing into the tiny doorway leading to the stairs. Jaebum scans the small map on the wall and points to the logo of the restaurant on the third floor before patting Jinyoung’s butt in the direction of the tiny stairwell. Jinyoung makes a cute noise of surprise before climbing up with a glare.

To say that Jaebum doesn’t stare at Jinyoung’s ass in his slate gray dress pants would be a lie. Now that they’re somewhere brightly lit with harsh white fluorescents and no longer hidden in the shadowed amber glow of the parking lot at Jinyoung’s apartment complex, he can appreciate the line of his boyfriend’s ample bottom freely, heartbeat kicking up just enough to make his rough swallow barely audible. 

Jinyoung’s head turns, just slightly, as he rounds the tiny landing to the next flight of stairs. 

“I know you’re staring at my ass.” 

Jaebum laughs. “And?” 

“How’s it look?” 

Without warning, Jaebum bypasses the few steps between them until he’s pushed up against Jinyoung’s back on the landing right outside the glass door of the restaurant. Jinyoung yelps when Jaebum smacks it, eyes widening as it echoes and he claps a hand over his mouth to muffle the shout that was surely following. Jaebum stifles his laughter in his fist when Jinyoung turns, slapping him hard in the bicep while his face goes up a few shades of red. 

“Hyung!” he hisses, trying to act like he’s not amused but the smile tugging at the corners of his mouth are giving him away. “That  _ echoed!” _

“It’s a small stairwell,” he says, grabbing Jinyoung’s offending hand and lacing their fingers together to placate him. “But to answer your question, it looks great. You’re going to let me see it later, right?” 

Jinyoung sighs in mock defeat as he squeezes Jaebum’s hand and presses the button by the door to slide it open. “Maybe, if you stop being such a tease today.”

Jaebum waits until they’re seated by one of the windows overlooking the street to scoff like he’s hurt. “Excuse me, I am  _ not  _ being a tease today.”

“Sure, sure,” Jinyoung mutters, scanning the menu and barely looking up at him. “Like you weren’t trying to seduce me on my porch earlier.” 

“I wasn’t! I kissed you, yeah, but  _ you  _ pulled me closer.” 

Rolling his eyes, Jinyoung sets his menu down and rests his chin in one of his palms. “Semantics. Are we really arguing about who tried to seduce who?” 

It makes him laugh, and the small smile that spreads on Jinyoung’s face makes him feel like anything but. Jinyoung looks back down at the menu he’d lain on the table but Jaebum just keeps looking at him, that feeling in his heart from earlier on the street returning in full force. Despite the two years that have passed easily, water over rocks worn smooth by the force of the stream, it sometimes still comes as a surprise to him that they ended up here. Being so in love with Jinyoung for so long and always being convinced in the back of his mind that this kind of thing would never happen to him,  _ could  _ never happen to him, sometimes at the oddest of moments it feels almost as though he’s living a different life. There are moments when he remembers how much it hurt to sit back and watch Jinyoung parade different boys back and forth in front of him in high school, not knowing how Jaebum felt; he remembers what it had been like to regurgitate a forced confession in Jinyoung’s room all those years ago only to keep on living as though he hadn’t meant it, or that it just didn’t mean anything at all. He remembers in the off hours the times that they’d fought and the time they’d spent apart and despite it being nearly three years ago now that they weren’t speaking to each other, it often feels like lifetimes. That’s not to say that their relationship was easy no matter how fast it developed: there was plenty of fighting and tears; all the lying and the awful words they’d hurled at each other had to be tended to like open wounds. 

Jinyoung’s mother seemed to know something about the two of them that they didn’t know about themselves. He watches Jinyoung’s face as he scans the menu absently, likely lost in his own thoughts while Jaebum continues to admire him and get lost in his. Jaebum sees so much of her in him; he wonders if she was gifted, maybe, even though Jaebum doesn’t believe in psychics and fate and all that. He wonders if, had that been true, if Jinyoung is the residue of it; if Jinyoung had maybe known somewhere in a place deeper than Jaebum could ever reach the things that his mother had known about them and was never really worried that they’d lose each other. The thought, though romantic in its grander scheme, usually washes away as soon as it forms. He knows well from their many conversations over the past few years that Jinyoung had been just as viscerally terrified as he had that they had permanently damaged themselves for good. 

Jaebum has one of these moments as he watches Jinyoung’s face, doused half in sepia from the lamp above their table while his fingertips rest gently against his cheek. He feels the anxiety creep back into his blood like a disease as he wonders how they got here, if this is real; if he actually deserves something like this with someone he hurt so badly. His heart stutters in his chest, unsure, a nervous swallow cutting his breath unevenly. Ever a pessimist, he can’t stop the thought of where they’ll go from here if the night goes south and not the way he’d planned it in his head. The thought of it ending right here and now makes his breath catch and come up short.

Jinyoung hears it and it pulls it from his trail of thoughts enough that he looks up and grows concerned. “Hyung? Are you okay?” 

“I’m fine, Jinyoungie. What do you want to eat?”

Distressed, Jaebum doesn’t wait for an answer before calling over the waiter. He orders quickly, nodding at Jinyoung, whose look of concern doesn’t fade even as he asks for just a salad. When they’re alone again, Jinyoung reaches across the table to grab his hand and seems dismayed when he finds that Jaebum’s palms are sweating.

“Seriously, you’re scaring me. You were being so cheeky and cute earlier. What happened?” 

_ Now or never, Im Jaebum,  _ he tells himself, and wishes that the futile pep talk worked. 

“Jinyoungie…” he says, trying to find the right words to express what he wants to say, but he’s never been a poet like Jinyoung and everything that he thinks of seems to fall short.

There must be something in his voice, because Jinyoung pulls his hand away fast and folds it in his lap with the other. Jaebum hates the way the color drains slow from his face across the table.

“You  _ are  _ breaking up with me, aren’t you?”

This is, of course, ridiculous; Jaebum doesn’t express that thought out loud for fear of hurting his chances but it is ridiculous all the same. Jaebum even thinks that Jinyoung  _ knows  _ it’s a little ridiculous, but after months of being at each other’s throats and an entire year of no communication there’s not a lot of room for debate on what they would and wouldn’t do to each other, even if that includes dressing a break up in fancy clothes at a fancy restaurant with the facade of promised sex before it. It’s ridiculous now, sure, but not impossible, and even as Jaebum swallows the terror in his throat he feels guilty that it comes across that way. 

“Jinyoungie,” he tries again, finding that his voice is stronger but still a little watery. “It’s strange that we’re here, right?”

“What do you mean?” 

He gestures vaguely, frustrated at his lack of words. “You know, together. It’s weird that we’re together, don’t you think?” 

Jinyoung goes more pale and Jaebum could kick himself for just digging a bigger hole. The waiter comes back with their food before he can answer, and they robotically go through minor pleasantries before Jinyoung is sitting back and trying to make himself look smaller. 

“What do you mean, hyung? You think it’s weird?” 

His voice is thin and Jaebum puts his hands over his face in frustration. He’s careful not to resort to old habits and dig the heels of his hands into his eyes lest he smudge the eyeliner he’d carefully applied after calling Jinyoung’s sister for instructions. Jaebum had really gone all out tonight; suit, eyeliner, fancy restaurant, and here he is, fucking it by making it sound like he’s trying to break up.

After a moment of trying to calm the hummingbird beating of his heart, he removes his hands and reaches out to lay one on the table palm up. Jinyoung doesn’t take it right away, looking apprehensive, so he sighs and puts it back in his own lap.

“That’s not what I meant. I guess I just meant, it’s weird that we ended up here, right? After everything, I never... “ he swallows before continuing. “Growing up, I always wanted to end up here, on a date with you, in a relationship. But I never thought we’d get here, especially after what happened. You know what I mean, right? I don’t mean it in a bad way, Jinyoungie. Sometimes I just can’t believe it’s real.”

Some of the apprehension bleeds from Jinyoung’s face and the tension seems to deflate the stiff line of his shoulders just a little bit. “I get what you mean, yeah.” 

“When I think about you, there’s so much to think about. We’ve been together practically our whole lives, Jinyoungie, you know? Most of my memories have you in them in some way. We spent a lot of time in our older years hurting each other even if it wasn’t on purpose. I think we made a lot of mistakes with each other that we can’t take back, and I want you to know that I will always be infinitely sorry that I can’t do that.” 

Now that the words are coming, he finds that his voice gets stronger and they won’t stop: 

“I love you. Stop thinking I’m going to break up with you, because it’s not going to happen. I’ve spent my entire life fighting to get you by my side, you think I would give that up now? After everything, and I still get to have you here with me, sitting across from me in this place looking like you do, and knowing that it’s all for me?” he laughs, and despite the restlessness still clinging to his arms and legs, there is the minor sweet relief when Jinyoung smiles earnestly and relaxes. 

“I’d be crazy to let you go, Jinyoung-ah. I need you to know that, no matter what, it has always been you. Okay? My whole life, even before I knew it, before you knew it, it’s always been you.” 

Emotion swells in his chest like a balloon, pressing against his lungs so that it’s hard to breathe. Jaebum isn’t often the crying type but for Jinyoung it seems like he gets every single side whether he asks for it or not, and he only blinks back tears where he can feel them pricking in the corners of his eyes. Jinyoung’s face has gone from concerned to upset to mildly confused, also a little glittery eyed as he watches Jaebum spill his guts across the table seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Hyung...where is this coming from? Really, are you alright?” 

He takes a deep breath, slightly mortified when it shakes. “Jinyoung-ah. I love you, you know that right?” 

Jinyoung doesn’t hesitate but his voice is loaded with unease. “Yes, Jaebum, of course I do. But will you answer me? What’s wrong?” 

“Do you love me, Park Jinyoung?” 

Across the table, Jinyoung softens, as though he comes to some deeper understanding that Jaebum is just expressing his sentiment because sometimes he worries just like Jinyoung does that at any moment this could end. Jinyoung lays his hand on the table in a mirror of what Jaebum had done earlier but curls his fingers in with a wounded look when Jaebum doesn’t take it. 

“Yes, hyung. I love you. It’s always been you, too. It may have taken me a long time to get there, but it’s always been you.” 

_ Now or never, Im Jaebum.  _

He clears his throat, taking in one last desperate breath to calm the nerves that just won’t go. Jinyoung looks just as confused as he had earlier when Jaebum shifts, sliding from his chair until he hits the wood paneled floor on one knee. 

It’s like a light turns on. Understanding dawns on his face like a sunrise and the happiness that supplants the initial surprise guides him home. Jinyoung’s face changes completely, brightening until it seems to be shining from the inside with the force of a thousand burning stars. Both of his hands come up to cover his mouth as he gasps, unbidden, tips of his ears reddening but unashamed as Jaebum slips a hand in his pocket. The beat of his heart skyrockets when it finds it empty, seized by a horror that he’d lost it when he remembers that he hadn’t had time to check his other pocket to assure that it’d been there when he’d picked Jinyoung up. He switches hands, aware that his face grows hot under the embarrassed pink blush as he checks his other pocket but bites down on a smile when Jinyoung laughs at him. There’s already wetness glittering in Jinyoung’s eyes when he curls his fingers around the little velvet box in his pocket, pulling it out quickly with little over dramatic flourish. 

He takes a deep breath again, feeling the tremor in his hands steady as Jinyoung practically scoots all the way out of his chair before Jaebum can even speak. Jaebum looks into Jinyoung’s eyes, so dark and beautiful, and feels the storm that had started earlier that day when he’d gone with Jinyoung’s father to pick out the ring fade into the calm rocking of a lifeboat at steady sea. Jaebum opens the tiny box in his hand to expose the gleaming band of silver swallowed in swaths of wet looking black satin and says, with all the confidence he can muster,

“Then, if you love me, you’ll marry me, right?” 

Jaebum barely hears the applause from the rest of the patrons when Jinyoung jumps up, practically kneeing the ring box out of his hand. He shouts  _ yah!  _ before dissolving into laughter, letting himself be pulled up by Jinyoung’s impatient grip until he’s on his feet. He clutches the box tight so that he doesn’t lose it when Jinyoung grabs the front of his suit jacket and yanks, catching him only slightly off guard with the most passionate kiss of his life. Jaebum reaches up with his free hand to grab onto Jinyoung’s hair, threading his fingers through the silky strands and eating up the pleased sound Jinyoung makes into his mouth as they kiss. Much to his chagrin, Jaebum laughs against his lips and pulls away slightly when the other diners start whistling and cheering.

He looks into Jinyoung’s eyes and could die right here and now with how much love is absolutely shining out of his handsome face. The few tears that had actually escaped have left trails down his flushed cheeks, and he just chuckles under his breath when Jaebum licks his thumb and rubs at them adoringly. Jinyoung won’t let go of him, clung tight to his suit jacket and looking up at him with a happiness so intense it almost makes him feel dizzy. 

While he wipes delicately at Jinyoung’s wet cheeks with a thumb, he smiles and talks under his breath. “So that’s a yes, right?”

“Oh, Jaebum. Of course. It’s a yes. Of course it’s a yes,” breathed out fast as though there had never been the possibility of a different answer.

“Do you believe me now that I wasn’t trying to break up with you?” he murmurs, done wiping at his tears but letting his thumb linger along the line of Jinyoung’s cheekbone with the sweet saccharine aftertaste of oversaturated affection. 

“Yes,” he says, and laughs quietly. He reaches up to grab Jaebum’s wrist and turns his face into Jaebum’s open palm when he uncurls his fingers. “Yes, I’m so sorry. You just seemed so nervous, and you were being so cheeky earlier, then got all serious––I was just worried.”

“But now you’re not worried, right?” he asks, hopeful, stroking the tiny hairs at Jinyoung’s sideburns and rubbing a thumb across his bottom lip. 

“Of course not, hyung.” he says softly, and then pulls his face away and holds up his other hand. His smile grows until it’s nearly splitting his face in half, and Jaebum can feel it in his bones the way he wants to kiss it until he dies.

“Now, put this ring on me before I change my mind.” 

 

** 

 

Jinyoung doesn’t stop admiring the ring on his finger throughout the rest of dinner. 

Actually, it’s mildly distracting, and Jaebum makes several annoyed noises against his teeth when Jinyoung doesn’t answer one of his questions because he’s too busy holding his hand out and looking at the silver band against the tan of his skin, saying  _ I’m sorry, Jaebum, it’s just so pretty, can you believe it? We’re getting  _ married! 

It ends any argument Jaebum could possibly attempt to muster. He looks blindingly happy, and any complaint that Jinyoung is ignoring him in favor of the pretty ring his father had helped pay for is lost in the overjoyed folds at the corners of Jinyoung’s eyes. 

Once they’re back in the car and headed back to Jinyoung’s, even the dark doesn’t stop him. Jinyoung is holding out his left hand in front of him in the passenger seat, turning his wrist this way and that like an artist looking at a model to learn all the shadows and angles. Jaebum just shakes his head and laughs, pride teeming in his chest that the ring on that man’s finger is his and that Jinyoung seems to be just over the fucking moon about it. 

“Hyung,” he sighs, gazing at it even in the low light of the car as it gleams from street lamps and signs outside. “It’s so pretty. Really. It’s gorgeous. Thank you.” 

“You’re welcome,” he says, trying not to preen, but he leans over and lets Jinyoung give him a kiss on the cheek anyway. “Actually, your dad helped me pick it out.” 

His boyfriend–– _ fiancee–– _ just laughs. “Of course he did. Did you ask him for permission?” 

Jaebum shrugs, looking over one shoulder before switching lanes. “More or less. I told him that I was going to marry his son and I wanted his help picking out a ring. It wasn’t necessarily permission that I was asking for but more so his approval I guess.” 

A smile curls on his lips when Jinyoung reaches over and pats his cheek. “Ahh. I’m sure had you asked, he would have said yes anyway. He loves you. I know he approves of you. He had been quite sad when I told him that we were fighting.”

Happiness, among other things, shoulders its way into his chest until he feels fit to burst. “Good. I’m glad. I would have married you, anyway.” 

Jinyoung makes a noise in his throat like a laugh and a happy sigh and just pats his cheek again, letting his hand linger. “Hyung, you’re so romantic.” 

“Don’t make me cringe,” he says, puckering his lips to try and kiss Jinyoung’s fingers when they trail down to his chin and pouting when he misses. “But thanks.” 

The car quiets to the sound of soft music over the speakers as Jinyoung hums. Jaebum feels utterly content, a mirrored happy sigh escaping his lips before he settles to enjoy the silence. Jinyoung’s fingers graze his chin, seemingly searching, and the touch brings him comfort until he feels them trail down to his throat with intent and his heartbeat leaps. The pads of Jinyoung’s fingertips press into his adam’s apple, following the quick swallow before they move down and deftly pop the top button on Jaebum’s shirt. 

“Jinyoungah,” he says, voice a low warning, fingertips gripping the steering wheel as the first ember of desire sparks up in his stomach at the way Jinyoung keeps walking his fingers down Jaebum’s chest. 

“Hmm?” he hums, looking forward, acting like he isn’t trying to rile Jaebum up while he’s driving the car. 

“I know what you’re doing, and stop it.”

Suddenly there’s the click of a released seatbelt and Jinyoung’s mouth is at his ear while his hand creeps down to his stomach. “Stop what, hyung?” 

Jaebum can’t help it––he inhales sharply, biting down on his lip at the feeling of Jinyoung’s warm mouth at his ear. A shudder runs down his right side, raising goosebumps on the skin of his arm and leg while he clutches at the steering wheel and feels his dick get half hard. Jinyoung just laughs, a breathless noise against his earlobe, taking Jaebum’s lack of follow up as permission to slide his hand down the rest of his stomach past his belt until it’s resting in his lap. 

“Jinyoungie,” he moans, attempting to chastise him and blushing when it comes out sounding pornographic instead. Jinyoung just angles his head and starts kissing his neck, tongue wet and lapping at the skin under his ear while his palm skirts over his half-hard length before pressing down with the heel of his hand. Jaebum’s thighs twitch, wanting to squeeze them together but spreading them under Jinyoung’s prodding fingers. 

His heartbeat pounds in his ears as he tries to concentrate on driving while Jinyoung is groping his dick over his dress pants. Every catch and drag of Jinyoung’s palm on his length between the cotton of his underwear and the soft material of his slacks makes his breath hitch, fingers whitening as his grip on the wheel tightens. Jinyoung seems content to bruise his neck with teeth and tongue; Jaebum wants to comment that the angle would be more comfortable if he’d fucking  _ wait  _ but the way Jinyoung is working his cock over his pants makes his thoughts go kind of hazy. He blinks rapidly, trying to clear the thick cloud of lust that’s starting to form between his eyes and the road, but then Jinyoung is leaning up to whisper hot and heavy into his ear. 

“Look down, hyung,” he pants, surely putting it on since massaging his dick isn’t  _ that  _ athletic, but even the front makes Jaebum’s dick grow harder. “I want you to look.” 

“Jinyoung-ah, I’m trying to drive safely, can’t you wait just another ten minutes?” 

His new fiancee hums in his ear and Jaebum can feel the vibration in his legs. He whimpers, useless, knowing that even if Jinyoung decided to be good and sit back until they got to his apartment he’d be grabbing Jinyoung’s wrist in two minutes anyway. Jaebum just takes a deep breath, locking his elbows so that he doesn’t give into the temptation to look down at Jinyoung’s hand in his lap until they’re at a red light and he has a few seconds to spare.

When the time comes a couple minutes later, Jaebum can already feel the wet spot his dick has leaked onto his boxers from Jinyoung rubbing him off over his pants. He looks down quickly, hiccuping on a noise at the way Jinyoung’s fingers straighten and curl along his length, obvious now in the tight fabric of his dress pants. The red light glints off of Jinyoung’s engagement ring, and Jaebum bites back down on his bottom lip at the sight of it. 

“Good boy,” Jinyoung says, and Jaebum swallows the noise he wants to make at hearing those words come from Jinyoung’s sinful mouth. “I want you to look, because I want you to get used to the sight of this: this hand with this ring on your cock.” 

“Jesus christ,” he moans, unable to help it, throwing his head back hard against the seat as he lifts his hips up into Jinyoung’s hand. He looks down, mesmerized by the sight of it despite Jinyoung teasing him like this a hundred times. To some extent Jinyoung has an unsaid point: something about watching his hand grab at Jaebum’s hard cock with that ring he’d put there himself on his finger makes his body feel so much hotter. 

The light turns green and he accidentally hits the gas too hard, prompting Jinyoung to lean away from his neck and back in his seat but still playing with him over his pants. 

“Careful, hyung,” he says, voice low and sweet the way it gets when he’s uncontrollably horny, “if you don’t get us home I can’t suck you off.” 

There’s only a choked noise as a response as Jaebum slows down and breathes heavily, trying like hell to concentrate on the road as he makes the last turn before Jinyoung’s apartments while heat ratchets up in his gut with every covered stroke. It takes everything in him to keep his hips from lifting, feeling the burning need in his lower back to thrust up and get the friction he wants, but he’s not so gracefully spared when Jinyoung’s hand lifts from his cock to unbuckle his belt. 

“Oh, god, Jinyoung––” his breath catches dangerously, letting it all out in one forced out blow as Jinyoung gets it undone and then pops the button on his pants. “Jinyoung, we’re almost there––” 

“I know,” he says, devious little shit, and then he pulls the zipper down and slips his hand inside. 

Jaebum slams his head back into the headrest again, wanting to scream at the way Jinyoung slowly drags his fingertips all along the outline of his cock over his underwear without actually touching it. They linger at the wet spot on his briefs, rubbing a little circle there, sending hot stabs of pleasure up and down Jaebum’s legs until his thighs shake. 

_ Almost there, almost there–– _ they’re barely a couple of blocks down from Jinyoung’s apartment when he’s shifting in his seat and leaning down. 

“Jinyoung––!” 

If he were a different person, he might have slammed on the brakes and swerved into the cars parked on the side of the road when he feels Jinyoung’s lips on his shaft through the thin layer of cotton. But he doesn’t; he just makes a filthy noise and grips a fistful of hair at the back of Jinyoung’s head instead. Instead of deterring him it just seem to please him––Jinyoung moans low at the feeling of having his hair pulled and hooks the fingers of his other hand in the waistband of Jaebum’s underwear for just enough time that his cock springs free and bumps against Jinyoung’s open mouth. 

Jaebum almost screams. Pleasure stabs him in the stomach and his fingers tighten in Jinyoung’s hair when his fiancee grips him with his left hand and deftly cover the head of his cock with his plump lips. Jaebum pulls a little, hissing through his teeth, mildly anxious that he’s going to get pulled over for erratic driving a block away from Jinyoung’s apartment complex and get caught out mid blowjob. Jinyoung seems to disregard the possibility of this as he moans and angles his head to go lower; Jaebum groans low at the feeling of Jinyoung’s wet lips slipping down his shaft and back up again. If he were a weaker person he’d take his eyes off the road to look down at where Jinyoung’s head is starting to bob in his lap as he starts to blow him for real, but he keeps his composure just long enough to turn into the apartment complex and find the first empty spot to park. 

Jaebum shifts quickly into park and kills the engine, leaving the keys dangling and the headlights on as he lets go of Jinyoung’s hair to pull the lever on the seat until it drops back. He hits the button on the seat belt, carefully holding onto the buckle and passing it from hand to hand so that it doesn't get loose and smack Jinyoung underneath the jaw. Once free of all the distractions, Jaebum slides his hand back into Jinyoung’s hair and closes his eyes, arching his back off the seat so that Jinyoung can take him deeper. 

He moans when he does, head of his cock at the back of Jinyoung’s mouth, and the vibrations from Jinyoung’s throat as he makes noise makes Jaebum wind tighter and tighter. White hot pleasure blooms in his groin as Jinyoung sucks, free hand not holding the base of his cock sliding up the inside of his thigh and massaging little circles into the space right by his balls. 

“Fuck, Jinyoungie,” he pants, trying not to fuck Jinyoung’s mouth but finding it hard to resist when Jinyoung looks up and makes the prettiest picture: red lips stretched around his dick, fingers curled around what won’t fit in his mouth when he’s not deepthroating, engagement ring reflecting the headlights as they bounce off the concrete wall. He tugs on Jinyoung’s hair, whimpering, feeling the heat draw his balls up and coiling in his stomach like a spring as he feels his orgasm swell. 

“C’mon, you’re going to make me come,” he pants, and even with a dick in his mouth Jinyoung somehow perfectly conveys a look with just his eyes that says  _ and that’s a bad thing?  _ w hich just makes Jaebum love him more.

“If I come right now, you’re going to have to wait until I fuck you. But if you pull off, I’ll take you upstairs and fuck you into the mattress before the door even closes.” 

It’s enough convincing: Jinyoung’s muscles in his back shift and he pulls off, a pornographic wet pop in the silence of the car underneath their harsh breathing. Jaebum moans quietly at the sight of Jinyoung’s swollen lips and the saliva shining on his chin as he carefully tucks Jaebum’s hard on back into his pants and practically kicks the car door open. 

Once they’re both outside, it’s all hands and mouths as Jinyoung pulls him in for a kiss against the trunk of Jaebum’s beat up Kia Sorento. Jinyoung’s hands grab at his ass when Jaebum grinds his hips, sweet friction sparking as their erections drag against each other through their slacks and elicit dirty, unabashed moans in the parking lot. Jaebum’s palms slide against the trunk as he pins Jinyoung to it, practically dry fucking him against it as their tongues slide together in a sloppy, wet kiss.

“Take me inside,” Jinyoung moans into his mouth, pushing at his chest but not hard enough to create any distance between their grinding hips. “Hyung, take me inside and make it official.”

With a nip of his teeth against Jinyoung’s bottom lip, he pulls Jinyoung up the stairs and hurriedly asks for Jinyoung’s keys to unlock the door. His hands are shaking a little and Jinyoung untucking his shirt from behind to slide his palm against his bare stomach is inhibiting his thinking a little, so he misses the first time he tries for the lock but succeeds on the second and right before Jinyoung starts trying to take off his pants on the porch. 

He throws the keys carelessly in the direction of the kitchen counter once the door is open, and turns to catch Jinyoung up in his arms when the younger shoves him backward and slams it behind him. Jinyoung’s studio is pretty small, but he’d had enough room for a small loveseat and a chair to create a tiny living area a few steps away from his bed. Jaebum’s back hits the couch, and he makes a noise of surprise into Jinyoung’s mouth while the younger pulls his belt through the loops and throws it on the floor.

“Take me right here,” he moans, panting and half kissing, half inhaling Jaebum’s breath where they lick at each others’ lips and tongues. His desperate hands nearly tear off the sewed button of Jaebum’s dress pants as he yanks them open, zipper straight down and probably broken but Jaebum is too caught up to care. He pushes at the shoulders of Jinyoung’s suit jacket as he pulls Jaebum’s pants to his knees, dropping them back and shrugging it off while barely moving away from Jaebum’s greedy mouth. Jaebum’s cock is still wet from Jinyoung’s hurried blowjob in the car; it’s starting to get uncomfortable in his boxers when Jinyoung reaches down between them to pull it free of the waistband and stroke him roughly. 

Jaebum growls, hips jerking, still trying to pull Jinyoung’s stupid turtleneck off over his head while also trying not to drop to his knees as Jinyoung jerks him off impatiently. Jinyoung lets go of his dick to raise his arms, whimpering cutely when Jaebum pulls the sweater up and over his head to join their other pieces of clothing on the floor. Now just in his underwear, Jinyoung doesn’t bother to smooth down his hair as he uses both hands to undo Jaebum’s shirt buttons to level the playing field. 

“You really want me to fuck you over the couch?” he pants, chasing Jinyoung’s mouth after his shirt slides free from his arms to the hardwood floor and he can grab at Jinyoung’s hips to pull him closer. 

“I just––yeah,” Jinyoung moans, both palms on Jaebum’s bare chest and sliding down, fingertips curling into nails and raking them down Jaebum’s stomach until he yelps with pleasure and his hips jerk. “I just want you inside me, right now––”

“God, Jinyoungie––”

Jinyoung doesn’t let him finish; Jinyoung grips Jaebum’s underwear and pulls it down to his knees, letting Jaebum step out of them as he does the same with his own and Jaebum is grabbing his naked waist. He spins them until Jinyoung is bent over the back of the couch and supporting himself on his palms. Jaebum steps away for barely a moment to swipe the lube off of Jinyoung’s bedside table from where they’d left it last time, but his fiancee whimpers anyway and he laughs. 

“I told you that you’d get me any way you wanted me, didn’t I?” he breathes, coating two fingers with lube and spreading Jinyoung’s thighs with a knee before teasing at his entrance. Jinyoung makes a desperate sound under his breath, back bowing, perfect ass lifting up and spreading a bit until Jaebum is giving in and sliding both fingers in slow. The apartment quiets to just the sounds of their heavy breathing and Jinyoung’s quiet moans as Jaebum fingers him open, wrist twisting and crooking his fingers up to make Jinyoung’s breath hiccup as he teases his prostate. Sweat starts to glisten in the dip of Jinyoung’s back, not enough to make Jaebum’s hand slip when he places it there to hold him down but enough that it looks especially pleasing in the light that sneaks in through the curtains. Jaebum leans forward to kiss Jinyoung’s shoulder, cock slipping between his legs and he groans with the effort to not just fuck his thighs until he comes. 

“Hyung, please, I’m ready––fuck––if you keep teasing me I’m just going to come––” 

Jinyoung can’t see his face so he just says it out loud, adding a third finger and loving the way Jinyoung moans his name and buries his face in one bicep. “And that’s a bad thing?” 

“Need to––need to feel you inside me.” 

It’s as much convincing as he needs. Jaebum slides his fingers out slow, still teasing, laughing when Jinyoung wriggles his hips impatiently. He takes his time anyway, breathing out on a low moan as he slowly starts to slick himself up with one hand on Jinyoung’s lower back for guidance. Warmth pools in his gut, already a bit overstimulated from the handjob slash blowjob he’d received in the car. His breath hitches as he touches himself; the light from outside is barely enough to illuminate Jinyoung’s tiny studio apartment so that he can see the shape of him bent over with shaking thighs in anticipation. Wetness gleams on his skin, trailing down the inside of his legs and Jaebum has to fight the urge to follow it with his tongue. 

Jinyoung pushes himself up on his arms, turning his head enough so that Jaebum can see the annoyed look on his flushed and sweating face. “C’mon, hyung, you’re being such a tease––”

He can’t finish around the moan that interrupts him when Jaebum lines up and pushes in slow. He doesn’t think that ever in his adult life he’ll get tired of the sight of Jinyoung bent over for him and taking his dick––later he'll reflect that this kind of thinking is both excessively pornographic and maybe a tad juvenile, but Jinyoung will shrug and agree that he'll never get tired of taking it. Jinyoung mewls, locking his elbows and arching his back to snap Jaebum out of whatever daze he’s in from watching his cock sink into Jinyoung’s perfect ass. 

Jaebum takes it slow at first, holding Jinyoung’s hips in both hands and thrusting up into him almost lazily. Every one makes him whimper, arms already shaking, breathless and sweating more freely as Jaebum holds onto him and slowly picks up the pace. They fuck over the couch for a few minutes, Jaebum gradually picking up the speed of his hips until their skin is slapping together and Jinyoung is letting out little punched-out moans with every thrust. As enjoyable as the view is, with Jinyoung’s ass up and his back a curve that goes up to his neck and his dark hair that sticks to his skin as he sweats, there’s just something missing and Jaebum growls as he pulls out. 

“Hyung, what’s wrong––” Jinyoung starts, half turning before Jaebum catches a hold of his shoulder and walks him a few steps backward toward the bed. Jaebum grabs his ass, mouth dropping open on a quiet noise as their cocks slide together before Jaebum is knocking Jinyoung’s feet out from under him and tossing him onto the mattress. Jinyoung actually  _ moans,  _ acting more like a pornstar than a newly engaged boyfriend, and Jaebum has to stifle a laugh. But the situation quickly becomes unfunny as he kneels down between Jinyoung’s legs, getting his hands up under Jinyoung’s thighs to lift his hips into Jaebum’s lap to enter him again. 

“Oh, god,” Jinyoung moans, throwing his head back as Jaebum digs his knees into the mattress and starts to fuck him hard. His fingers curl in the comforter, knees coming together at Jaebum’s ribcage before falling away again as he spreads as far as he can go. “Jaebum, god, Jaebum, can’t believe we’re gonna get married––”

“Jinyoungie,” he pants, fingertips turning to claws at Jinyoung’s hips as he thrusts his hips up hard enough to make Jinyoung’s back bow off his thighs. His fiancee moans, dick flushed red and looking achingly hard where it bounces against his stomach as Jaebum rolls his hips deep and fast. He realizes that Jinyoung had been kind of right; he does want to see the ring, he loves seeing that silver band and knowing that he himself had put it there and that Jinyoung had been the happiest man on earth to allow him to do so. Jaebum’s breath tears out of him, sweat plastering his hair to his forehead and dripping down his neck as he drills his new fiancee on his bed. “I want––I want to see you jerk yourself off––left handed––”

Jinyoung can already barely focus, eyes squeezed shut and moaning loud enough that it’s probably going to piss off his neighbors. “Hyung, I’m right handed––”

“Just wanna watch you do it with the ring,” he pants, and Jinyoung laughs freely and breathlessly at the confession but obliges with slender fingers wrapped around his cock between them. “Yeah, good boy––”

“God, Jaebum––oh fuck, right there, yeah, keep going––” Jinyoung sounds exhausted already, jerking off messily with his left hand, a bit awkward and uncoordinated but they’re both watching that engagement ring glint in the light as sweat and precome drips down his ring finger. “We’re getting  _ married––”  _

“Yeah, baby, we’re getting married––fuck––”

If Jinyoung had any other comments to make about the fact that they are indeed going to get married to each other, he forgets them when Jaebum drops both hands to the bed and starts driving into him. Jinyoung shouts, forgetting about Jaebum’s request to watch him jerk off with the ring and he switches hands to stroke his cock fast and rough while Jaebum jackknifes his hips. Their mouths meet hot and desperate as they both get closer; there’s the familiar pinpricks starting up in Jaebum’s thighs as his orgasm swells up again. He tries to slow down a little, thrusting long and deep inside of Jinyoung while murmuring about how tight and wet he is deliriously against his mouth. Jinyoung just says words, barely stringing together complete thoughts that are mostly just repeats of  _ yes yes yes yes right there like that hyung I’m so close!  _ before they both tense up and come at the same time. 

Cartoon stars explode behind Jaebum’s eyes as he comes, shuddering in a deep breath as he slows his hips while Jinyoung whines and pants while stroking himself through the aftershocks. They both open their eyes at the same time, immediately meeting and letting out little breathless laughs at the odds that they’d come together on the night they got engaged. Jinyoung relaxes into the bed, breathing hard as Jaebum pulls out slow and stands up to go get a wet towel from Jinyoung’s bathroom. 

When he comes back, Jinyoung is half asleep with one hand behind his head and the left one over his heart on his chest. He makes a pleased noise as Jaebum cleans him up, finishing by wiping his stomach clean and then just tiredly throwing the towel back towards the bathroom door. Jaebum drops to his side, immediately hooking a leg around Jinyoung’s thigh and throwing an arm across his damp stomach. 

They don’t say anything in the silence that follows when Jinyoung turns his head and meets his half lidded eyes. Everything that they would need to say is expressed in the body language that they finally learned how to read; it took twenty-six years of learning, forgetting, and relearning for Jaebum to be fluent in the way that Jinyoung’s body says  _ I need you  _ when his hand comes off his chest to stroke his cheekbone underneath his eye. It took twenty six years and a year within that of pain and silence to recognize the voice that Jinyoung had leant to his smile that means  _ don’t go anywhere, or I’ll miss you so.  _ It took them twenty six years and a constant, never ending fluctuation of their paths for them to realize that the one they belong on is the one where they can walk it hand in hand.  

It took them twenty six years of pain and reconciliation but now that they’re here and their hearts are open, Jaebum knows he will never forget the way Jinyoung’s heart beats spell out  _ I love you _  in steady, unbroken rhythm _. _

  
♡

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> that's all, folks!! for real this time!! 
> 
> it was really, really hard not to spoil this secret, but i had an epilogue planned for flux from the very very beginning. i had always intended for it to be a surprise, and i only spoiled it to 3 people because i was just really struggling to keep it to myself, haha.
> 
> anyway, i hope that you like it, and i hope it wraps up flux just perfectly enough to give you that last little taste of what you missed in the final chapter :) 
> 
> once again thank you to all my cheerleaders and to all the lovely and amazing readers who put up with me. i don't usually do this but if you want to come find me, you can talk to me here on [curiouscat](https://curiouscat.me/pepiperm) or here on [twitter](http:..www.twitter.com/pepiperms). ♡
> 
> thank you all for your love and support and for loving flux as much as i loved writing it. i means the world to me. ♡


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